Ireaeure  Room 


COL.  GEORGE  WASHINGTON  FLOWERS 
MEMORIAL  COLLECTION 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
DURHAJvI,  N.  C. 


PRESENTED  BY 

W.  W.  FLOWERS 
Treaewre  Room 


MRS.  HALLIBURTOFS  TROUBLES. 


A  NOVEL. 


By  Mrs.  IIENHY  WOOD 

AUTioR  or 

"THE  CHANNINGS,"  "EAST  LYNNE,"  A:c.,  i!tc. 


VOLXTMK    11. 


RICHMOND: 

AVEST  ifc  JOHNSTON,  Publishers, 

145  MAIN  STREET. 

1865. 


PRINTED  BY  GEO.  P.  EVANS  &  CO., 

WHIG    BUILDING, 

RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA. 


'/- 


i 


MRS.  HALLIBFRTON'S  TROUBLES. 


■♦  ^ 


CHAPTER  1. 


A    UOLK  DUk;    BT    STARLIGMi 


:  Ham  Halliburton,  was  supposed  to  be  in  exist- 

*  ence . 

;     Cyril  looked  up,  with  wonder  marked  on  his 

'  face. 
The  conversation  at  Mr.   Dare's  dinner  table  ;      < Docs  Del' es  say  th-.re  are   two  suoh  cloaks .=' 
a,fain  turned  upon  the  loss  of  the  cheque,  and  the  ,  ^^\^^  -^^ 

proceedings  thereon.  It  was  natural  that  it ;  .That  there  are  two  such  cloaks  ^^ppears  to  be 
should  turn  upon  it.  Mr.  Dare's  mind  was  full  ,^j,  jj^^igpytj^hle  fact,'  replied  Mr.  Dare.  'The 
of  it;  and  he  gave  utterance  to  various  conjee- j  ^i^^  ^.j^^j^  ^^g  pg^^jji^^g  ^^p^jj^^  the  Halliburtons' 
tures    and    speculations,    as    they    occurred    to !  ^^^3^    j^^j    ^jg^j      Samuel    Lynn   went  up   to 

him  jt ' 

•In  sr  le  of  what  they  gay,  I  cannot  help  think-  .-^j^^  ^^^^^  parading  tout  seul— alone  V  inter- 
ing  thul  it  must  have  i^cen  William  Halliburton,' ij.yp^g^j  ^^^  signora  Varsini,  with  a  perplexed 
he  remarked  with  emphasis.     'He  alone  was  in  1  ^^^^ 

the  countinghou»e  when  the  cheque  disappeared;  |  ^  ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^-^^ 
and  the  ;;f -^ci,  changing  it  at  White's,  is  proved  j  .^j^,^  ^^^  ^^^^^^  i„  i^^  Madcmoi-selle,'  said 
to  bear  ln«.  strongest  possible  resemblance  to  him ;,yjp  Dare,  continuing  the  account  of  Samuel 
at  all  ev^inls,  to  his  (ircss.  The  face  was  hidden  Lynn's  adventure.  'Thus  the  fact  of  their  being 
— aiof  )urse  it  woi .  1  -JC.  People  who  attempt  ^^^  ^,^,3,^,  i^  ^jj^^blished,'  he  proceeded.  'Still, 
to  pass  .  r  stolen  cheqi  5,  take  pretty  good  care  ;  ^^^^^  ^^,1,  nothing;  unless  the  owner  of  the  other 
thatth.i.    features  ar-:  ..ot  seen.'  :  has  access  to  Mr.   Ashley's   counting-house.     I 

'But  w  no  hesitate?  1>  bring  t  home  to  Halli-  pointed  this  fact  out  to  them.  But  Delves- 
burton  .'  inquired  Mis.  Dare.  .  which  is  most  unaccountable— differed  from  me; 
'They  all  do — as  it  seems  to  me.  Ashley  won't  and  when  we  parted,  he  expressed  an  opinion, 
hear  a  word;  laughs  at  the  idea  of  Halliburton's  with  that  confident  nod  of  his.  that  it  was  not 
being  capable  of  it,  and  says  we  may  as  well  ac-  Halliburtcn's  cloak  which  had  been  in  the  mis- 
ruse  himself.  That's  nothing;  as  Cyril  says,  Mr.  chief  at  tl.c  butcher's,  but  the  other.' 
Ashl  J  appears  to  be  imbued  with  the  idea  that  .What  a  thundering  falsehood  !'  burst  for'.h 
Halliburton  can  do  no   wrong;  but  now  Delves    Herbert  Dare. 

has  veer«d  round.  He  shifts  the  blame  entirely  ..9,-^,.  ^^-^^^  jyj^.  Dare,  while  all  around  the 
off  Halliburton.'  table  stared  at  Herbert's  excited  manner. 

'Upon  whom  do«s  he  shift  it."  asked   Anthony  ^      Herbert  had  the  grace   to  feel  ashamed  of  his 


I  abrupt  and  intemperate  rudeness. 
'He  has  ,      ij  j,cg  your  pardon,  sir;  I  spoke  in  my  surpri»r. 


Dare 

'He  won't  say,'    replied  Mr.  Uare 

grown  mysterious  o^er    it   since  the  afternoon;  I  mean'that  Delves  must   he  telling  a  falsehood, 

nodding  and  winking,  and  giving  no  explanation,  jf  he  seeks  to  throw  the  guilt  ort  Halliburton. 

He  says  he  knows  who    it  it  who  possaspcs  the  The  very  fact  of  th"  fellow's  wearing  a  strange 

•eeond  cloak.'  cloak  such  as  that,  v.  hen  he  went  to  get  rid  of  the 

H         'The  second  cloak  !'     The  words  were  a  puzzle  cheque,  must  be  proof  positive  of  Halliburton's 

I     to  most  at  the  tabU,  and  Mr.  Dare  had  to  explain  guilt.' 

A     bat  another  cloak,  similar  to  that  worn  by  Wil- 1     'So  I  tbiik/  acquioicad  Mr.  Dar^. 

k 


o 


46109 


'■i 


Mils.  HALUBURTON'S  TKOUBLM. 


•What  sort  of  a  cloak  is  this  that  you  laugh  at, 
and  call  scarce?'  inquired  the  goTerness. 

'The  greatest  scarecrow  of  a  thing  you  can 
conceive,  JVIademoiselle,  responded  Mr.  Dare.  'I 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  it  to-day  on  Hallibur- 
ton. It  is  a  dark  green-and-blue  Scotch  plaid, 
made  Tery  full,  with  a  turned  up  collar  Jined  with 
red,  and  a  bit  of  fur  edging  it. ' 

'Plaid.?  Plaid  ."repeated  Mademoiselle.  'Why 
it  must  be ' 

'What.''  asked  Mr.    :).ire,  for  she  had  stopped. 

•It  must  be  yery  u^'ly,'  concluded  she.  But 
somehow  Mr.  Dare  took  an  impression  into  hi» 
mind  that  it  was  not  what  she  had  been  about  to 


say. 

'What  is  it  that  Delves  says  about  the  cloaks  .>' 
eagerly  questioned  Cyril,  t  cannot  make  it 
out.' 

'Delves  says  he  knows  who  it  is  that  owns  the 
other,  and  that  it  was  the  o'her  which  went  to 
change  the  cheque  at  White's.' 

'What  mysterious  words,  papa,'  cried  Adelaide. 
'The  cloak  went  to  change  the  cheque!' 

'They  were  Dein-s'  own  words,'  replied  Mr. 
Dare.  'He  did  seem  remarkably  mysterious 
.    tverit." 

•Is  he  going  to  hunt  up  the  other  cloak?'  re 
lumed  Cyril. 

'I  conclude  so.  He  was  pondering  over  it  for 
some  time  before  he  could  remember  who  it  was 
that  he  had  seen  wear  a  similar  cloak.  When 
the  recolh  ction  came  to  him,  he  started  up  with 
_  surprise.  Keen  men  are  these  police  officers,' 
added  Mr.  Dare.  'They  forget  nothing.' 
L.  'And  they  ferret  out  everything,'  said  Herbert, 
with  some  testiness  in  his  tone,  'instead  of 
wasting  time  over  vain  speculations  touching 
cloaks,  why  does  not  he  secure  Halliburton  ?  It 
it  impossible  that  the  other  cloak— if  there  is  an- 
other—could have  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
affair.' 

'I  dropped  a  note  to  Delves  after  be  left  me, 
recommending  him  to  follow  up  the  suspicion  on 
Hallibnrton,  whether  Mr.  Ashley  is  agreeable  or 
not,'  said  Mr.  Dare.  <I  have  rarely  in  my  life 
met  with  a  stronger  case  of  presumptive  evi 
dence  ' 

So.  many,  besides  Mr.  Dare,  would  have  felt 
inclined  to  say.  Herbert,  like  his  father,  was  firm 
in  the  belief  that  William  Halliburton  must  have 
taken  the  money;  that  it  must  have  been  he  who 
paid  the  visit  to  the  butcher.  What  Cyril  thought 
may  be  best  inferred  from  his  actions.  A  sud- 
den fear  had  come  over  him  that  Sergeant  Delves 
was  really  going  to  search  out  the  other  cloak. 
A  most  inconvenient  procedure  for  Cyril,  lest  in 
the  procesf ,  the  sergeant  should  search  out  him. 


\  He  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork.    He  had  had" 
,  quite  enough  dinner  for  one  day. 
j     'Are  you  not  hungry,  Cyril?'  asked  his  mother. 
I     'I  had  a  monstrous  lunch,'  answered  Cyril.     «J 
j  can't  eat  more  now.' 

\  He  sat  at  the  table  uatil  they  had  finished,  feel- 
^^mg  that  he  was  being  choked  without  food, 
j  choked  with  dread.  But  that  a  guilty  conscience 
deprives  us  of  free  action  he  would  have  quitted 
;,  the  table,  and  gone  about  some  work  he  was  now 
> eager  to  do. 

i  He  rose  when  the  rest  did,  looked  about  for  a 
I  pair  of  large  scissors,  and  gllc^r'  ^jth  them  up 
;  the  staircase,  _v»  eyes  and  ears  -  the  alert,  lest 
there  should  be  any  watching  i..  .  No  iv  :r.an 
oeing  in  that  house  had  the  sligh -st  kr.owiedge 
of  what  Cyril  was  about  to  do,  or  that  !  .  ^^^ 
I  going  to  do  anything;  but  to  Cyrils  r- 
'  science,  it  seemed  that  all  must  be  oii 
out. 


Ktole 

f  in. 

blue 

It 


T 


A  candle  and  the  scissors  in  his  hand,  he 
up  to  Herbert's  chamber,  and  locked  himsr 
Inside  a  closet  within  the  room  hung  a  dar;.- 
camlet  cloak,  and  Cyril  took  it  from  the  hoc   ,     .. 
had  a  plaid  lining;  a  lining  of  the  precise  pattern 
and  colours  that  the  material  of  William    Halli- 
burton's cloak  was  composed  of.     The  cloak  was 
of  the  same  full,  old-fashioned   make;  its   collar 
was  lined  with  red.  tipped  with  fur;  in  short,  the 
one  cloak  worn  on  the  right  side   and  the   other 
worn  on  the  wro.,g  side,  could  not  have  been  told 
apart.  This  cloak  belonged  to  Herbert  Dare;  oc- 
casionally, though  not  often,  h-  went  out  at  dusk, 
wearing  it  wrong  side  outermost.     It  was  he,  no 
doubt,  whom  Sergeant  Deives  had  seen   wearing 
one.     He  was  a  little  taller  than  William  Halli- 
burton, lowering  above  six  feet.      What  his   mo- 
tive had  been  in  causing  a  cloak   to  be   lined    so 
that,  turned,  it  should  resemble   William   Halli- 
burton's, or  whether  the  so  lining  it  had  been  ac- 
cidental, was  only  known  to  Herbert  himself. 

With  trembling  fingers,  and  sharp  scissors  that 
were  not  particular  where  they  cut,  Cyril  began 
his  task-the  taking  out  of  this  plaid  lining.  That 
he  had  worn  it  to  the  butcher's,  and  that  he  feared 
It  might  tell  tales  of  him,  were  facts  only  too 
apparent.  Better  put  it  out  of  the  way  for  ever ' 
Unpicking,  cutting,  snipping.  Cyril  tore  away  at 
the  lining,  and  at  length  got  it  out,  the  cloak  suf- 
fering considerable  damage  in  the  shape  of  cuts 
and  rents,  and  loose  threads.  Hanging  the  cloak 
up  again,  he  twisted  the  lining  together. 

He  was  thus  engaged  when  the  handle  of  the 
door  was  briskly  turned,  as  if  some  one  essayed  to 
enter  who  had  not  expected  to  find  it  fastened. 
Cynl  dashed  the  lining  under  the  bed,  and  made 
a  »P"ng  to  the  window.  To  leap  out  ?  surely  not: 
for  the  fall  would  hare  kill.d  him.     But  he  bid 


wr 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

nearly  lo«t  all  presense  of  mind  in  his  perplexity  ^^     She  stared  at  it  in  astonishment  great  as  Hcr- 


and  fear. 


/bert  had  done,  and  threw  off  a  volley  of  Burprisc 


Another  turn  at  the  handle,  and  the  steps  went ;  'n  her  foreign  tongue.  But  she  was  a  shrewd 
on  their  way.  Cyril  thought  he  recognised  them  [  woman.  Ay,  never  was  there  a  shrewder  than 
for  the  housemaid's,  Betsy.  He  supposed  she^Biar.ca  Varsini.  Mr.  Sergeant  Delves  was  not  a 
was  going  her  evening  round  in  the  chambers,  j  bad  hand  at  ferretting  out  just  conclusions;  but 
Gathering  the  lining  under  his  arm,  he  halted  to  J  she  would  have  beaten  the  sergeant  hollow. 

-L--1-   --■''/     «Tenez;' cried  she,  putting  up  her  forefinger  in 

i  thought,  as  she  gazed  down  at  the  cloak.    'Cyril 

What  should  he  do  with  it— this  tell-tale  thiii^ :  '.■  did  this.' 
He  could  not  eat  it;  he  dared  not  burn  it.  There  ^  'Cyril !' 
was  no  room,  of  tho'^e  which  had  fires,  where  he  i     She  nodded  her  head. 


think.     His  chest  heaved,  his  hands  shook,  nnd^ 
his  face  was  white 


might  make  sure  of  being  alone;  and  the  smell  of; 
it,  burning,  would   alarm  the  house 
he  to  do  with  it? 


You  stood  it  out  to  me  that  you  did  not  come 
What  was  ( in  on  Saturday  evening  and  go  out  again  between 

;  ten  and  eleven ' 

'I  did  not,'  interrupted   Herbert.     'I  told  you 


Dig  a  hole   and   bury  it,   came   a   prompting; 
•voice  within  him;  and  Cyril  waited  for  no  better  jtrut^h,  but  you  wou 
suggestion,  but  crept  with  it  down  the  stairs,  and  / 
out  to  the  garden.  \. 

Seizing  a  spade,  he  dug  a  hole  rapidly  in  an  | 
unfrequenied  place;    and,    when    it    was   'ai'g^  I  comprehend  ?' 
■enough,  thrust  the  stuff  in.     Thet.  he  covered  it  |       _;       _      ' 


Id  i.ot  believe  me.' 

'But  this  cloak  went  out.     And  it  was  turned 

the  plaid  side  outwards,   and   your  cap  was  on, 

tied  down   at  the   ears.     Naturally  I  thought  it 

was  you.    It  must  have  been  Cyril !    Do  you 


over  again,  to   leave  the   spot  apparently  as  he 
found  it. 

*I  wish  those  .-"urs  would  give  a  stronger  light,' 


'How    myste- 


'No,    I  don't,'  said   Herbert, 
riously  you  arc  speaking" 
'It  must  have  been  Cyril  who  robbed  Mr.  Ash 


grumbled  Cyril,  looking  up  at  the  dark  blue  can-  j  lej-' 


opy.     'I  must  come  again  in  the  morning,  I  sup- 1 
pose,  and  see  that  it's  all  safe 
bring  a  lantern.' 


Mademoiselle!'  interrupted   Herbert,    indig- 
It  wouldn't  do  tojnantly. 

'Ecoutez,    mon    ami.     He    was    blanched   as 


Now  it  happened  that   Mr.  Herbert  Dare  was  ,^hite  asa  mouchoir,  while  your  father  spoke  of 

,  .     ♦„  „„,,„„j  fkot  pvpnino-      His  in-' it  at  dinner — and  did  you  see  that  he  could  not 

bound  on  a  private  errand  that  evening,     his  in  ,    ,  ..      ,     ,        .;',     ,,       .        r^     •,  ,,t        i 

tention  was  to  go  abroad  in  his  cloak  while  he  |  eat .'  "You  look  guilty,  Monsieur  Cynl,'  I  said 
executed  it  Just  about  the  time  that  Cyril  was  |  to  myself,  not  really  thinking  h.m  to  be  so.  But, 
putting  the  finishing  touch  to  the  hole,  Herbert  |  be  persuaded  it  was  no  other.     He  must  have 

.       .    u-    r.^^^  f^  n-Af  ti,P  rlmlr  taken  the  paper-money— or  what  you  call  it— and 

went  up  to  his  room  to  get  the  cloau.  ,  ,       ^,         ,  ,11 

'^  .      .    ,      ,.     wTi         ijt    V.    t /Come  home  here  for  your  cloak  and  cap  to  wear, 

To   get  the    cloak,   indeed!     Wb..    H^^b^r^^^j^.j^  ^^^  ^^  .^  ^^^  gold,  thinking  it  would 

lened  the  closet-door,  nothing  save  the  mutilated;  ,^  ,    ,t  .  ,u„  „i„„i,.  .k„* 


op 


'fall  on  that  other  one  who  wears  the  cloak:  that 


ohiert  iust  described,  met  his  eye.     A  torn,  cut/ 

oojeci  jusiaescM       ,  j  ;  William  Hal I  cannot  say  the  name;  c'est 

thing,  the  threads  hanging  from   it  in  jags.     No-^  .       i 


thing  could  exceed  Herbert's  consternation  as 
stared  at  it.    He  thought  he  must  be  in  a  dream 
Was  it  his  cloak.'    Just  before  dinner,  when  he  / 


.     'trop  dur  pour  les  levres.  It  is  Cyril,  and  no  other. 
He  has  turned  afraid  now,  and  has  torn  the  lining 


,-  out. 


came  up  to  wash  his  hands,  he  had  seen  his  cloak  {     Herbert  could  make  no  rejoinder  at  first,  partly 
hanging  there,   perfect.     He   shook  it,  he  pulled  ;  through  dismay,  partly  through  astonishment.  'It 
Hi»  cloak    it  certainly  was;; cannot  have  been  Cyril !' he  reiterated. 


it,  he  peered  at  it 

but  who   had  destroyed  it  ?    A  suspicion  flashed  ] 


'I  say  it  is  Cyril,'  persisted  the  young  lady.     'I 


into  hii  mind  that  it  might  be  the  governess.    He  { saw  him  creep  up  the  stairs  after  dinner,  with  a 
made  but  few  steps  to  the  school-room,  carrying/ candle  and  your  mother's  great  lartjc  scissors  in 


the  cloak  with  him. 


■  his  hand.     He  did  not  see  me.  I  wai  in  the  dark, 


The  governess  was  sittingthere,  listless  fenough.  ;  looking  out  of  my  room.      Depend  he  was  going 


Perhaps  she  was  waiting  for  him. 

'I  lay,   Mademoiselle,'   he    began,   'what  on! 
earth  have  you  been  doing  to  my  cloak?' 


to  do  it  then.' 

•Then,  of  all  blind  idiots,  Cyril's  the  worst  !— 
■if   he   did   take   the  cheque,'  uttered   Herbert. 


'To  your  cloak  !'  responded  she;  'what  should  ',  'Should  it  get  known,  he  is  done  for,  and  that  for 
I  h»ve  beeri'doing  to  it  ?'  ;  life      And  my  father  helping  to  fan  the  flame  !' 

'Look  here,'  he  said,  spreading  it  out  before  J  The  governess  shrugged  her  shoulders.  'I  not 
her.    'Who  or  what  has    done  this?    It  was  all ;  like  Cyril,' ihc  said.      •  I  have   never  liked  him 


Tight  when  I  went  down  to  dinner.' 


'since  I  etm«.' 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

•But  you  will  not  tell  against  him  !'  cried  Her- )  The  brandy-and-water  was  brought,  and  Mr. 
bert,  in  'ear.  ( Dare  joined  his  risitor  in  partaking  of  it.    He 

'No,  1.0,  no.  Tell  against  your  brother  !  Why  j  agreed  with  him  that  the  night  was  cold.  But 
should  I .'  It  is  no  concern  of  mine.  Unless  peo-  \  nothing  could  Mr.  Dare  make  of  him.  So  often 
pie  meddle  with  me,  I  don't  meddle  with  them.  J  as  he  turned  the  conversation  on  the  subject  in 
Cvril  is  safe,  for  me.'  hand,  so  often  did  the  sergeant  turn  it  off  again. 

'What  on  earth   am  I  to  do  for  my  cloak  to-    Mrs.  Dare  got  tired  of  listening  to  nothing;  and 
nigiht?'  debated  Herbert.      'I  was  going— going  |  she  departed,  leaving  them  together, 
where  I  want  it.'  |     Then  changed  the  manner  of  Sergeant  Delves. 

•Why  you  want  it  so  to-night  ?'  asked  mademoi- 1  He  drew  his  chair  forward;  and  bent  towards  Mr. 
selle,  sharply.  Dare. 

•Because  it's  cold,' responded  Herbert.  'Thej  'You  have  been  urging  me  to  go  againstyoung 
cloak  was  warmer  than  my  overcoat  is.'  >'  Halliburton,'  he  began.     'It  won't  do.     Hallibur- 

'Last  night  you  go  out,  to-night  you  go  out,  to-^  ton  no  more  fingered  that  cheque,  nor  had  any 
morrow  you  go  out.     It  is  always  so  now  !'  >  thing  to  do   with  it,  than  you  or  me  had.     Mr. 

'I  have  got  a  lot  of  perplexing  business  upon^  Dare,  don't  you  stir  in  this  matter  any  further.' 
me,'  answered  Herbert.  'I  have  no  time  to  see'  'My  present  intention  is  to  stir  it  to  the  bot- 
about  it  in  the  day.'  \  tom,'  returned  Mr.  Dare. 

Some  little  time  longer  he  remained  talking  |  'Look  here,' said  the  sergeant  in  an  undertone; 
with  her,  partially  disputing.  The  Italian,  from  \  q  am  n.jt  obligated  to  take  notice  of  offences  that 
some  cause  or  other,  went  into  an  ill-humour, /don't  come  legally  in  my  way.  Many  a  thing 
and  ^aid  some  provoking  things.  Herbert,  it  J  has  been  done  in  this  town- ay,  and  is  oeing  done 
must  be  conftssed,  received  them  with  good  tem-  j  now — that  I  am  obliged  to  wink  at;  it  don't  lay 
per,  and  she  grew  more  affable.  When  he  left  J  right  in  my  duty  to  take  notice  of  it;  so  I  keep 
her,  she  offered  to  pick  the  loose  threads  out  of  /  my  eyes  shut.  Now  that's  ju"»t  it  in  this  case.  So 
the  cloak,  and  hem  up  the  bottom.  'long  as   the  parties   concerned,  Mr.   Ashley,  or 

'You'll  lock  the  door  while  you  do  it?' he  urged.    White,  don't  put  it  into  my   hands  officially,  I'm 

'I  will  take  it  to  my  chamber,'  she  said.  'No- 1  not  obligated  to  take  so  and-so  into  custody,  or  to 
body  will  molest  me  there.'  |act  upon  my  own  suspicions.     And  I  won't  do  it 

Herbert  left  it  with  her,  and  went  out.      Cyril  \  upon  suspicions  of  my  own:  I  promise  it.   If  I  am 
went  out.     Anthony  had  already  gone  out.     Mr. !  forced,  that's  another  matter.' 
Dare  remained  at  home.     He  and  his  wife  were  ;     'Are  you  alluding  to  Halliburton  !' 
conversing  over  the  dining-room  fire  in  the  course  '.     'No.     You  are  on  the  wrong  scent,  I  say.' 
of  the  evening,  when  Joseph  came  in.  -'And  you  think  you  are  on  the  right  one  ?' 

'You  are  wanted,  please,  sir,'  he  said  to  his  'I  could  put  my  finger  out  this  night  and  lay  it 
jjjggjgj.  I  on  the  fox.    But  I  tell  you,  sir,  I  don't  want  to, 

•Who  wants  me.''  asked  Mr.  Dare.  |  unless  1  am  compelled.      Don't  you  compel  me, 

•It's  policeman  Delves,  sir.'  j  ^^-  ^^a^^'  ^^  ^"  ^^«  P^OP^^  »"  ^h«  '^orld.' 

'Oh,  show  him  in  here,'  said  Mr.  Dare  'I  hope  J  Mr  Dare  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  his  thumbs 
something  will  be  done  in  this,'  he  added  to  his;  in  his  waistcoat  arm-holes.  No  suspicion  of  the 
wife.  'It  may  turn  out  a  good  slice  of  luck  for  ( truth  had  come  across  him,  and  he  could  not  un- 
ine.'  I  derstand  either  the  sergeant  or  his  manner.    The 

Sergeant  Delves  came  in.    In  point  of  fact,  he  /  latter  rose  to  depart, 
had  just  returned  from  that  interview  with  the ;     'The  other  cloak,  similar  to  young  Hall ibur- 
butcher,  where  he  had  been  accompanied  by  Mr. '  ton's,  belongs  to  your  son  Herbert,'  he  whispered, 
Ashley  and  William.  ^  as  he  passed  Mr.  Dare.    'It  was  his  brother  Cyril 

•Well,  Delves,  did  you  get  my  note  >'  asked  Mr.  /^  who  wore  it  on  Saturday  night,  and  who  changed 
Dare.  'the  cheque:  therefore  we  may  give  a  guess  as  to 

'Yes,  sir,  I  did,' said  the  sergeant,  taking  the ^  w^ho  took  the  cheque  out  of  Mr.  Ashley's  desk, 
neat  offered  him.  'It's  what  I  have  come  up ;  Now  you  be  still  over  it,  sir,  for  his  sake,  as  I 
ahout.'  j  shall  be.      If  I  can,  I'll  call  at  your  office  to- 

'Do  you  intend  to  act  upon  my  advice  ?'  ?  morrow,  Mr.  Dare,  and  talk  further.      White 

•Why— no,   I  think  not,' replied  the  sergeant.^  must  have  the  money  refunded  to  him,  or /le  won't 
•Not,  at  any  rate,  until  I  have  had  a  talk  with |  be  still.' 
you.  '/     Anthony  Dare  fell  into  a   confused  maze  of 

'What  will  you  take?'  (  horror  and  consternation,  leaving  the  sergeant  to 

•Well,  sir,  the  night's  cold.  I  don't  mind  a  sup  /  bow  himself  out.  Mrs.  Dare  hoard  the  departure, 
of  brandy-and-water.'  ]  and  returned  to  the  room. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES.  ' 

•Well,'  cried  ihe,  briskly,  'is  he  going  to  ac-;  his  bouse  to  that  of  Monsieur  Colin,  the  French 

cuse  Halliburton?'    '  |: master.      William,  sociably  inclined  by  nature, 

Mr.  Dare  did  not  answer.     He  looked  up  in  a  ^  had  sometimes  dropped  in  at  one  or  other  of  the 

beseeching,  helpless  sort  of  manner,  as  one  who  <  houses.     He  would  find  Robert  East  labouring  at 

is  stunned  by  a  blow.  '  ^i'  books  much  more  than  he  need  have  laboured 

•What  is  the  matter?' she  questioned,  gazing  at -had  some  little  assistance  been  afforded  him  in 

him  closely.     'Are  you  ill  >'  [  his  progress.    William  good-naturedly  undertook 

He  rose  up  shaking,  as  if  a  trembling  (it  were  ■;  to  supply  it.      It  became  quite  a  common  thing 

on  hin>.    'No— no.'  for  him  to   go  round  and  poss  an  hour   with  tht- 

•Perhaps  you  are  cold,'   said  Mrs.  Dare.     'I    Easts  and  Stephen  Crouch, 
asked  you  what  Delves  was  going  to  do.    Will  he       The  unpleasant  social  features  of  Honey  Fair 
accuse  Halliburton  ?'  thus  obtruded  themselves  on  William   Hallibur- 

'Be  still!' sharply  cried  Mr.  Dare,  in  a  tone  of  ton's  notice;  it  was  impossible  that  anybody, 
pain.  'The  matter  is  to  be  hushed  up.  It  was  passing  much  through  Honey  Fair,  should  not  be 
not  Halliburton.'  struck  with  them.    Could  nothing  be  done  to  res- 

I  cue  the  people  from  this  debased  condition  ?— and 

^^^ )  a  debased  one  it  was,  compared  with  what  it  might 

\  have  been.    Young  and  inexperienced  as  he  was, 
j  it  was  a  question  that  sometimes  rose  to  Wil- 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    PRESENT    OF    TEA-LEATEI. 


How  went  on  Honey  Fair  ?  Better  and  worse, 
better  and  worse,  according  to  custom;  the  worse 
prevailing  over  the  better. 

Of  all  its  inhabitants,  none  had  advanced  so 
well  as  Robert  East.  Honestly  to  confess  it, 
that  is  not  saying  much,  since  the  greater  portion, 
instead  of  advancing  in  the  world's  social  scale, 
had  retrograded.  Robert  had  quitted  the  manu- 
factory he  had  worked  for,  and  was  now  second 
foreman  at  Mr.  Ashley's.  He  was  also  becoming 
through  self-perseverance  an  excellent  scholar  in 
a  plain  way.  He  had  one  friend  to  help  him,  and 
that  was  William  Ila.liburton. 

The  Easts  had  removed  to  a  better  house;  one 
of  those  which  had  a  garden  in  front  of  it.  The  ; 
Fishers  had  never  come  out  of  the  workhouse, 
and  Joe  was  dead.  The  Crosses,  turned  froflti 
theirhome,  their  furniture  sold,  liad  found  lodg- 
ings; two  rooms.  The  Masons,  man  and  wife, 
passed  their  time  agreeably  in  quarrels.  At  least, 


Ham's  mind.  Dirty  homes,  scolding  mothers, 
ragged  and  pining  children,  rough  and  swearing 
husbands!  Waste,  discomfort,  evil.  The  women 
laid  the  blame  on  the  men;  they  reproached  them 
with  'sotting'  away  their  evenings  and  their  mo- 
ney at  the  public-house.  The  men  retorted  upon 
the  women,  and  said  they  had  not  a  home  fit  for 
•a  pig  to  come  into.'  Meanwhile  the  money, 
whether  earned  by  husband  or  wife,tcfnt.  It  went 
somehow,  bringing  apparently  nothing  to  show 
for  it,  and  the  least  possible  return  of  equivalent 
good.  Thus  they  struggled  and  squabbled  on, 
their  lives  little  better  than  one  continuous  scene 
of  scramble,  discomfort  and  toil.  At  a  year's 
end  thev  were  not  in  the  least  bettered,  not  in 
the  least  -aised,  whether  socially,  moially,  or 
physically,  from  what  their  condition  had  been 
at  the  year's  beginning.  Notliing  had  been 
achieved;  save  that  they  were  one  year  nearer 
to  the  great  barrier  which  separates  time  from 
eternity. 

Ask  them  what  they  were  toiling  and  struggling 
for.  They  did  not  know.  What  was  their  end, 
their  aim  ?     They  had  none.      If  they  could  only 


that  it  was  agreeable  may  be  assumed,  for  the  j  rub  on,  and  keep  body  and  soul  together,  (as 
tjuarrels  were  going  on  perpetually.  The  chil-  \  poor  Caroline  Mason  was  trying  to  do  in  her 
(Iren  were  growing  up  without  training,  and  Caro- ;  garret,)  it  appeared  to  be  all  they  cared  for. 
line — ah!  I  don't  know  that's  it  of  much  good  i  xhey  did  not  endeavour  to  lift  up  their  hopes  or 
asking  after  her.  She  lived  in  a  garret  alone.  J  their  aspirations  above  that ;  they  were  willing 
She  had  lived  so  a  long  while;  and  she  worked  j  ^q  to  go  on  until  death  shouUl  come.  What  a 
her  fingers  to  the  bone  to  keep   body  and  soul  to-  !  nfe !    What  an  end  ! 

gether,  and  went  about  with  her  head  down.  The  j  a  feeling  would  now  and  then  come  over  Wi'- 
Carters  thrived;  the  Brumms  also,  better  than  <  liam  that  he  might  in  some  way  help  them  to  a:- 
they  used  to  do;  and  the  Bufflcs  so  excellently ,  |  tempt  better  things.  To  do  so  was  a  duty  which 
that  a  joke  went  about  that  they  would  be  retiring  I  seemed  to  be  lying  across  his  path,  that  he  might 
on  their  fortune:  bat  the  greater  portion  of  Honey  i  pj^jj  \i  up  and  make  it  his.  How  to  set  about  it. 
Fair  was  full  of  scuffle,  trouble,  and  improvi- jtia  tnew  no  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  Now 
dence.  Und  then  disheartening    moments    would  come 

William  Halliburton  frequently  found  himself !  upon  him.     To  atUmpt  to  put  the  renovating 
in  Honey  Fair.  It  wta  tUc  most  direct  road  from  ■  broom  to  the  evili  of  Honey  Fair,  «rr«MeQ  » 


J 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBL^^. 


far  more  formidable  task  than  the  cleansing  of 
the  stables  of  Augeas  could  ever  have  appeared 
to  Hercules.  He  knew  that  any  endearour, 
whether  on  his  part  or  on  that  of  others,  who 
might  be  far  more  experienced  and  capable  than 
he,  would  be  utterly  fruitless,  unless  the  spring 
to  exertion,  to  strive  to  do  better,  should  be  first 
born  within  themselvei.  Ah,  my  friends!  the 
exerting  aid  of  others  may  be  looked  upon  as  a 
great  thing;  but  without  self-struggle  and  self- 
help,  little  good  will  be  effected. 

One  evening,  in  passing  the  house  partially  oc- 
cupied by  the  Crosses,  the  door  was  flung  vio- 
lently open,  a  girl  of  fifteen  flew  shrieking  out, 
and  a  saucer  of  wet  tea-leaves  came  flying  after 
her.  The  tea-leaves  alighted  on  the  girl's  neck, 
just  escaping  the  arm  of  William.  It  was  the 
youngest  girl  of  the  family,  Patty.  The  tea-leaves 
had  come  from  Mrs.  Cross.  Her  face  was  red 
with  passion,  her  tongue  loud  with  it;  the  girl, 
on  her  part,  was  insultingly  insolent  and  abusive. 
Mrs.  Cross  had  her  hands  stretched  out  to  scratch, 
or  tear,  or  pull  hair,  as  might  be  convenient,  and 
a  personal  skirmish  would  inevitably  have  en- 
sued, but  for  the  accident  of  William's  biding 
there.  He  received  the  hands  upon  his  arm,  and 
contrived  to  detain  them  there. 

'What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Cross?' 

'Matter!'  raved  Mrs.  Cross.  'She's  a  idle, 
impedent,  wicked  huzzy — that's  what's  the  mat- 
ter. She  knows  I've  got  my  gloving  to  get  in  for 
Saturday,  and  not  a  stroke'll  she  help.  There  be 
the  tatcr  dishes  a-lying  dirty  from  dinner,  there 
be  the  tea-cups  a-lying  from  tea  and  touch  'em 
»he  won't.  She  expects  me  to  do  it,  she  do,  and 
me  with  my  gloving  to  find  'em  in  food  !  I  took 
hold  of  her  arm  to  make  her  do  it,  and  she  turned 
and  struck  at  me,  she  did,  the  good-for-nothing 
faggot !  I  hope  none  on  it  didn't  go  on  you,  sir,' 
added  Mrs.  Cross,  somewhat  modifying  her  voice, 
and  stopping  to  recover  b/eath. 

'Better  that  it  had  gone  on  my  coat  than  Patty's 
neck,'  replied  he,  in  a  good-natured,  half-joking 
tone;  though,  indeed,  the  girl,  with  her  evil  look 
at  her  mother,  her  insolent  air,  stood  there  scarce- 
ly worth  his  defence.  'If  my  mother  asked  me 
to  wash  tea-things  or  do  anything  else,  Patty,  I 
should  do  it,  aild  think  it  a  pleasure  to  help  her,' 
he  added,  to  the  girl. 

Patty  pushed  her  hanging  hair  behind  her  ears, 
and  turned  a  defying  look  upon  her  mother.  Hid- 
den as  she  had  thought  it  was  from  William,  he 
saw  it. 

•Yon  just  wait,'  nodded  Mrs.  Cross,  in  answer 
as  Hpfiant.  'I'll  make  your  back  smart  by-and  - 
by.* 

Which  of  the  two  was  the  more  in  fault .'  It '. 
was  hard  to  say.  The  girl  had  never  been  brought ; 
up^  tv  know  her  duty,  or  to  do  it;  th«  motbw, ' 


from  her  earliest  childhood,  bad  given  abuse  and 
blows;  no  persuasive,  kind  words;  no  training. 
Little  wonder,  now  Patty  was  growing  up,  that 
shoturned  again.  It  was  the  usual  mode  of  ma- 
!  ternal  government  throughout  Honey  Fair.  In 
;  these,  and  such  like  cases,  where  could  interfer- 
lence  or  counsel  avail,  unless  the  spirit  of  the 
;  mothers  and  the  daughters  could  be  changed  ? 

William  walked  on,  after  the  little  episode  of 
the  tea-leaves.  He  could  not  help  contrasting 
these  homes  with  his  home;  their  life  with  hit 
life.  He  was  addicted  to  reflection  beyond  hit 
years,  and  he  wished  these  people  could  be 
aroused  to  somewhat  of  improvement  both  in  mind 
'  and  body.  They  were  jo  living  for  no  end;  they 
;  were  toiling  only  to  satisfy  the  wants  of  the  day 
! — nay,  to  stop  the  wants,  more  than  to  satisfy 
;  them.  How  many  of  them  were  so  much  as 
; thinking  of  another  world?  Their  turmoil  in 
;  this  was  too  great  for  them  to  cast  a  thought  to 
I  the  next. 

•I  wonlsr,'  mused  William,  as  he  stepped  to- 
;  wards  M.  Colin's,   'whether  some  of  the  better 
'  conducted  of  the  men  might  not  be  induced  to 
[come  round  to  East's  in  aa  evening?     It  might 
be  a  beginniag,  at  any  rate.    Once  wean  the  men 
from  the  public-houses,   and  there's  no  knowing 
what  reform  might  be  effected.     I  would  will- 
ingly give  an  hour  or  two  of  my  cven'ngs  up  to 
them!' 

His  visit  to  M.  Colin  over,  he  retraced  his  steps 
to  Honey  Fair,  and  turned  into  Robert  East's.  It 
was  past  eight  then.  Robert  ai: .  Stephen  Crouch 
were  home  from  work,  and  were  getting  out  their 
books.  Charlotte  sat  by,  at  work  as  usual,  and 
Tom  East  was  pulling  Charlotte's  head  towards 
him.  to  whisper  something  to  her. 

'Robeit,'  said  William,  speaking  impulsively, 
the  moment  he  entered,  'I  wonder  whether  you 
could  induce  a  few  of  your  neighbours  to  come 
here  of  an  evening?' 

•What  for,  sir  ?'  asked  Robert,  turning  round 
from  the  book-shelves  where  he  stood,  searching 
;  for  some  book. 

•It  might  be  so  much  better  for  them.  It  might 
lend  in  being  so.  I  wish,'  he  added,  with  sudden 
;  warmth,  'we  could  get  all  Honey  Fair  here  !' 

'All  Honey  Fair !'  echoed  Stephen  Crouch,  in 
'  astonishment. 

•I  mean  what  I  say,  Crouch.' 
'Why,  sir,  the  room  wouldn't  hold  them !   Nor 
a  quarter  of  them;  nor  a  tenth !' 

William  laughed.  'No,  that  it  would  not, 
speaking  practically.  There  is  so  much  discom- 
fort around  us,  and — and  ill-doing — I  must  call  it 
so,  for  want  of  a  better  name — that  I  lometimei 
wish  we  eould  mend  it  a  little.' 
'Who  mend  it,  sir?' 
♦Anybody  that  would  try.    You  two'—*ddre»»- 


MRS    HAr.LTBTTRTON'S  TROITRT.ES. 


ina:   hoth  tVic  me      colIectiTe'y — 'might  hi^lp  to 
wa^'is  It      If  voii  couid  fie'1in;e  a  f«-w  round  (i<t 
kiid  get  them  to  he    interested   in   wha.  lies  yo' 
eveniruj    itiLTest — hooltx.   and  rnlional  enTnei- 
tion — so  a^  to  wean  them  from  the  public-h<>usf 
it  would  be  a  great  thing.' 

'There'd  never  he  any  good  done  with  the  me.> 
tak«  them  »•*  a  whule,  sir.  They  are  an  ini' 
ra-  t.eaoyc'inti:  lot,  not  carinir  to  ht  hetier.' 

'That's  jn«t  it,  Crouch.      They   don't. care   i 
be  better.     But  they  might  be  taught  to  care      i 
would  be  a  most  des^irable  thing   if  Money   Fai 
could    be    brought   to   spend    its  evenings  as  yoi 
spend  yours       If  the  men  g;ive  up  spending  then 
money.  a"d  reeling  home  after  it:  and  the  worm  > 
kept  tidy  hearths  and   civil    tongues.       As  Chat 
lotte  does,'  he  added,  looking  round  at  her. 
•The  e's  no  denying  that,  sir.' 
'I  think  something  might  be  done.    By  degree;- 
you   understand;  not    in   a    hurry.     Were  you  i< 
take  the  men  by  storm — to  sjy,  'We  want  you  ti 
lead   changed    lives,   and  are  going  to  show  yoi. 
how   to  do  it,'  you  would   make  your  movement 
for  nothing,  and  get  laughed  at  into  the  bargain. 
Say   to  the  men,    'You  shan't  go  to  the  public- 
house,  because  you  waste  your  time,  your  nione> , 
and  your  temper,'  and,  rely  upon  it,  it  would  have 
the  same  effect  as  if  you  spoke  to  the  wind.     Bu 
get   them   to   come    here  as  a  sort  of  agreeabh 
change,  an  invitation  out,  if  you  can  understant 
that,  and  you  may  secure  them  for  good,  if  yoi. 
make  the  evenings  pleasant  to  them.     In  short. 
give   them   some  employment  or  attraction  thbi 
will  outweigh  the  attractions  of  the  public-house.' 
'It    would    be    a    good   thing,'   said    Stepheti 
Crouch,  musingly.      The^  might  be  for  trying  it 
rise  up  of  themselves  then.' 

'Ay,'  spoke  William,  with  enthusiasm.  'Once 
let  them  find  the  day-sprintr  within  them8elve>, 
the  wish  to  do  right,  to  be  elevated  above  wha' 
they  now  are,  and  the  rest  will  be  easy.  •  Whei 
once  that  day-spring  can  be  found,  a  man  is 
made.  God  never  sent  a  man  here,  hut  he  irn 
planted  that  within  him.  The  difiicuity  is,  tt 
awaken  it.' 

'.\nd  it  is  not  always  done,  sir,'  ^aid  Chariots 
lifiing   her    face  from  her   work  with  a  kindling 
•ye,  a  heightened  colour.     Slit  had  found  it. 

'Charlotte,  I  fear  it  is  rarely  done,  instead  of 
always  It  lies  pretty  dormant,  to  judge  by  ap- 
pearances, in  Money  Fair.' 

William  was  right.  U  is  an  epoch  in  a  mari'* 
life,  the  finding  what  tie  liad  n<>t  inaptly  called  the 
day-spring.  Self-e«teem.  self-reliance,  the  cour- 
age of  long-continued  paticice,  the  strivinu  to 
make  the  best  of  the  mind's  goO'*  gifts — all  aie 
born  of  it.  He  who  possesses  it  may  soar  t  •  a 
bright  and  ahappj  lot,  bewisg  ia  mi^i — m*j  he 
9 


al'a\s   hear   it! — the  rest  ani^reward  promised 

tT.-.a't.-r. 
'  At  any  r.<te,  it  would  be  giving  them  a  chance, 

■  It  seems  to  me.' otisTved   William.      'I   think 

.now  int<  who  "'.>|jld  come.  .Andrew   Brumm. ' 

*Ah    Ae  would  «nd   ijlad,'    replied  Robert  East. 

Me    is   different    from    many    of  them.     I  know 

nothe'  (hat  would,  sir;  and    that's  Adam  Thor- 

rroft  ' 

(7tiarl<itte  burief'  her  head  over  her  work. 

*.^inre  that  cousin  of  his  died  of  delirium  tre- 
■iiens,  Thon  ycr-'ft  has  said  good-bye  to  the  p"b- 
ic-hoiise*-.  H-  spends  his  evenings  at  home  with 
lis  mother,  but  I  know  he  would  like  to  spend 
■h»-m  here      Tim  Carter  would  come,  sir  ' 

•If  Mrs  Tim  will  let  him,'  put  in  Tom  East, 
sviucily.     And  there  was  a  laugh  round. 

Ever  so  few,  to  begin  with,  will  set  the  cxam- 
ile  to  others,' remarked  William.  'There's  no 
<nowing  what  it  mny  grow  to  Small  beginnings 
•take  great  endings.  I  have  talked  with  my  mo- 
her  about  Mcey  Fair.  She  has  always  s.id; 
Before  Honey  Fair's  conduct  will  be  better,  its 
winds  must  be  better.'  ' 

'There  will  be  the  women  yet,  sir, 'spoke  Car- 
•otte.  'If  they  are  to  stop  as  they  are,  it  will  be 
>f  little  use  the  men's  doing  anything  /TJr  them- 
-elves  ' 

'Charlotte,  I  say  thrra's  ro  knowing  where 
ihe  work  may  end,  once  begun,'  he  gravely 
inswered. 

The  rain,  which  had  been  threatening  all  the 
'■vening,  was  coming  do-vn  preity  smartly  as  Wil- 
liam walked  through  Hone}  Fair  oit  his  return. 
Standing  against  a  shutter  near  his  own  door, 
ivas  Jacob  Cross.  'Good  night,  Jacob,'  said  Wil- 
liam. • 

'Good  night,  sir,'  answered  Jacob,  his  air  a 
sullen  one. 

'Are  you  standing  in  the  rain  that  it  may  make 
vou  gro*,  as  the  children  say  .''  asked  William, 
in  his  ever  pleasant  tone 

'I'm  a-standing  here  'cause  I  have  got  nowhere 
•'Ise  to  stand,'  said  the  man,  his  voice  full  of  re- 
-entment.  '1  be  turned  out  of  our  room,  and  I 
!iave  got  no  money  for  the  Morned  Kara.' 

'A  good  thing  you  have  not,'  thought  William. 
'What  has  turned  you  from  your  room."  be 
asked. 

'1  be  turned  out,  sir,  by  the  row  there  is  in  it. 
Our  Vlary  Ann's  come  h 'me.' 

'Mi-ry  \nii .''  repeated  William,  not  quite  un- 
de'^t-uiding 

'(Jnr  Mary  Ann,  uhal  took  and  married  I'«d 
Tvrretl  A  fine  market  she  have  brought  ber 
puis  to  !' 

'VVb"l  ^  98  she  done.''  fiucslioned  William. 

<8hc  Ssre  done  eocu^h,' wrathfullj  iMWttW 


y 


A 


It 


jaA8.  HALLIBURTON'S  TJlOUBLai. 


Cross      'Wetoljjhcr  when  f^he  married  Tyrrett  i  something  going  on   there  interesting  and  pleM- 
that  ht^  was  nothing  but  a  jobber,  at  fifteen  shilOnnl' 

lings  a-wcek—»»hich  it's  all  he    was.  sir   as  >oi,        'Crouch  and  Es^t  don't  want  me.' 
know.     "VVaii.- I  SMj.  toh.r.   Someb-dyheti...  I      'Ye*, they  do.     They  will   be  only  too  glad  if 
Bor  him'll  turn  up."     Her  mother  lays  •' VVa.l.  ' ;  vou,  an^i    a  lew    more   intelligent  men.  .lill  join 
Other.  «ys"V*ai,r  No.  not  she;  the  Kills  be  ai.    t  .m.     Try  it,  Cross.     There's  a  warm  room  to 
in.rryng   mad.     Well.  ,f,e  took    her  own    wa>       it  in    at  all  .vents.  hdJ  nothing  to  pay.' 
•hewoni,i,.ke,l:a.,dthej.gol   m.rne,l.  and  s.  .a,,,    u',   a,,   ,ery    fine  for  them    East's!     We 

up  upon   nothing.     Neither  of  'em  had  sar.d  J,, „n't  have  their  luck.     Loolc  at  me  !     Down  in 
tw.  penny  piece;  and  Ben.  him   fond  of  the  pub   ?  the  world  ' 

lie;  and  our  Mary  Ann.  her  fond  of  laziness  and  \      vVill.am  put  his  hand  on   the   man's  shoulder, 
finery,  and   not. knowing  how  to   keep  house  m.  <   Why  should  yon  be  down  in  the  world." 
more  nor  her  younoiMer  laity  did.'  -Why  should  ir  repented   Cross.   ,n  surprise. 

William    remembered    the    liiile    interlnde  c  j  ■  8ec:.u>e  I  be.' he  lo.Mcaily  answered. 

thateren.ng  in  which  Miss  Patly  had  played  he.  |      -That  is  not  the   reason.     The  reason  is.  be- 

part.     Jacob  continued —  > 

*lt  was  all  fine  and  sunshiny  with  'em  for  a  few  ' 

days  or  a  ftw  weeks,  till  the  novelty   wears  oH.  i 

and  then   they  finds  things  going  cranky.     Th.  | 

money    ,;.a,  begins  to  run  short;   and   Mary  Ann    J      .,„,   ^„„,„  „„,    ,,,j   ^„„  ^.^ 

she  finds  that   Hen  like,  hi,   glass;  and    Ben.  I,       Vould  it  not  be  better  to  wish  to'i.ve" 

findsthatshcsju^tadoll.  with  no  gumption  n.     {     '.\ot  such  a  life  as  mine.' 

management    inside    of    her.     They   qmirrels- 

naterally,  and  they  comes  to  us  to  setile  it.  •  Y.,    \.  ,„ust  be  a  better  hfe.     And  why  need  u.ur  life 

was  both   red-hot  for  the  harp-ain  "  save  I    >«ui..  •        u,    -,     t?  ... 

uie  nargain.    sa_\s  I,     .411.     „e   go   mi.serabie.'     You   gain    fair  washes;    vour 

youmustj.stmakethebe.torit.andofonean.j^if,    earns    money.     Altogether    I    suppose   you 

other.        And   so   they   went   bark:  and    it   have    ,„,„i  have  t«enty-six  or  iwent^-e.ght  shillLs 

gone  on  tiiilhi8.qu.irrelling  continual.    And  now  Ig^t .  J      fe       »      ""gs 

lll^7.  '"'1'.  '"  '"'  !:"'  ""'  '""'  ''''  ''''  J     '^^'^  ^^^--^'^  "«  ^^'-f^  -i'h  i'.'  b""t  forth  (Vo.s. 

thrlchlldf        H     H     ;"         '  ^'"'  ^'''V'r     '^  ""^'^^  ^--^y  -"-'--     Afore  the  m.ddle  of 
three  children  and  a  black  eye.  a-vown.g  a,  she'll    ^^e  week  comes,  it's  all  gone.' 
stop  at  home,  and    won't  go  back   to  him  auain  ,, 

*     •  ■  i      'You   spend   some  at  the    Horned    Ram,  you 


lusc  you  do  not  try  to  rise.* 
'It's  no  use  trying.' 
'Have  you  ever  tried  !* 
'Why,  no!     How  can  I  try .'' 
'You  wished  just   noiv    that  you  were   dead, 
uuld  it  not  be  better  to  wish  to  live.'' 
'.Not  such  a  life  as  mine.' 
'But,  to  wish  to  live,  would  seem  to  imply  that 


And  she  and  htr  mother's  having  words  over  ii, 
and  the  babbies  is  a-squalling— enough,  the  noise 
is,  to  raise  the  ceiling  off,  and  I  comw  away  oui 
of  it.     I  wish  I  was  dead,  I  do!' 

Jacob's  account  of  the  ngise  was  scarcely  ex- 
aggerated.    It   pentirattd    to   where  thiy  .-rood    ' 
two   or    three    h-aises    olf.     William  had  ni..vct.  i 


1  know.'  said  William,  not  in  a  leproving  tone,  but 

'  a  joking  one. 

'.She  squanders  away  in  rubbish  more  than 
that.'  was  Jacob's  aifswer — with  a  turn  of  his 
'hiimh  towards  his  house,  and  not  at  all  an  hon- 
.111.. ble  stress  upon  the  'she.' 

•loser,  that  the  umbrella  might  give  (W.  o.rtoi  '  '^"^  ^'.^  ""^^'""^  satisfactory  to  show  for,  in 
iU  shelter.     'Not  a   very   sens  ble   wish    lUt  oi'^'^;?'  '"^^"  °^  y^"'      '^'"^   *"°'^^'-   P'*"'   ^^^ 

yours,  is  it,  Cro8.v>' remarked  he.  T^./m  '     .  u     v     , .     ^     -r  t 

,,  .  .     .  .    ,  J      '1  d  not  be  back'ard— if  I  could  see  one  to  try,' 

I  have  wished  it  lon^.  ..ir.  sensible  or  not  sen  Js,id  he,  after  a  pause. 
Bible.     1  sldves  away  my  days,  and   have  got  no-/       v        i,      u  ,.    ,,■ 

tning  but  a  pigsty  to  step  into  at  home,  and  j  '^"^  .^u  ^^""f  *''  '  to-morrow 
angry  words  in  it.  A  niee  plaee,  that  i./f,,  J  «^-""g- «"d  '  will  go  in  with  you  to  East's.  If 
tired  man!  I  can't  aflord  the  public  more  „„,  ^•"  ^^"''ot  ««^«  »nj  better  way  you  can  spend  a 
three  or  four  nights  in  a  week;  not  that,  always.  \  ^'^T"'  *''"'"«;  ^"'  "°^'  •'"''^'  ^^'  ™*  "^  * 
They  b.  getting  co.ky  at  the  beer->hops,  now-a-  i  ""'"^  '"^  '^"'  '"^  '^''^*'"  """'^  '*  ^^  ^""  '^^  ^^'^ 
days,  and  won't  give  no  trust.  Wednesday  thi.  i '  ^  ^'""'"'^  ^"''  -'^'^^^^^y'  g"  '^^  ""t  evening, 
i.;  Thursday,  to-morrow;  ^>iday,  next  night:  i '""'''".  "7''' '^".  "'."»^'-  Vou  can't  tell  all  that 
three  nights,  and  me  without  a  shelter  to  put  n.y  ^  T^  »':'*'^/'-»'»  •'-  •"  time.  1  know  of  one  thmj 
head  in!'  J- ;  that  will.' 

•I  should   like  to  takf.   vou  to  one  to-mor.ow  ^     .W^iu^^V^"*-' ''"'■' 
night,' said  William.     'Will  you  go  wi  h  me  ^'       '       ^^'  ^^""^  ""'"''  °^  "^"^''"^  yourself  dead, 
.„,.        ,    .        ,,  you  will  uet  to  think  life  short,  fo*r  the  good  you 

•Where  s  it  to.''  ungraciously  asked  Cross.  I  f,,.,^  j,,  j^ , 

'To   Robert    Ea-.i's.     You  know    how  he  and  ■      He  went  on   his  way.     Jacob  Cross,  deprived 
fknueti  5jw»d  th«ir  •reninifj.     Tauro's  »twaya  ^  ot  the  umbreiia's  shelter,  stoud  in  ih»  raia  aM  ^- 


lUlB  HALLIBURTON'S  TRO¥BLM. 


11 


fo're,  and  looked   afler  him   indulging  his  leflcc-   bert.     I  knew   it  «ou1d  put  him  np.  and  there '• 

',  II. .tiling  1  like  half  so  much  n»  to  t»/e  the  Darei^ 

•He  is  a    young  man.  and   things  wears  iheiri  H'-'h^rl   snet-red.     "Ai.d    he   owe.    it    partly  t« 

bright  side   to   •  im       But  he   have  got  a  crdial  ]  VVihia.n,"  I  went  on,  •  f..r  if  Frank's  a  brilliant 

way  with  him,  and  don't  look  at  folk,  as  if  the>  Scholar,     William's    a    brilliani.r'"     ••William 

J.  .,  Hailiburtuij  a  brilliant  scholar!"'  stormed  scorn- 

wax  dirt.  <  ,,       L      .  L  •     .». 

*And  that  had  been  the  origin  of  the  holding^iul  Herbert.  -H^s  he  learnt  to  be  one  in  tba 
soiries  at  Robert  Kast's.  By  -legrecs  ten  or  aiegg-lub?  So  long  as  he  know,  how  glote.  ara 
dozenmentook  to  go,  and— what  «asniore— io;made,  thai's  enough  for  him.  What  doe.  fc« 
like  to  go,  and  to  find  an  in'erest  in  it.     It  was  a  j  wm,1  with  the  acquirements  of  gentleman  ?"    Up 


Tast  improTcmentupon  the  Horned  Ram. 


CHAPTER  Til. 


UKNRT    ASHLEt's    OBJICT    IK    LIFE. 


( loukud  Mi^s  .Vliiry.her  colour  rising,  her  eyea 
Sflash.ng  ShewsRut  h»-r  drawing:  at  which,  by 
^  the  way,  she  makes  a  poor  hatid;  nothing  to  b» 
{couip-*red  to  Anna  Lynn.  '•William  HalliburtoB 
^  has  fo  gotten  more  than  you  ever  learnt,  Herbert 
i  Oitro  ■'  cried  she;  "and  there's  more  of  the  true 
^gentle. nan  in  his  little  finger  than  there  is  in  your 
'/  whole  body."  '•There's  for  you,  Herbert  Dare,'' 
'wh'stUd  [;"bul  it's  true,  lad,  like  it  or  not  ai 
On  one  of  the  warm  bright  days  that  we  some-  ■  ^^^  ^^^.  „  H^^beit  teas  riled.' 
times  g.  tin  the  month  of  Fenrua.y,  all  the  more  I      ^  ^^^^^^^   ^.^  ^^^^  a,  he  concluded,  and 

br.ehtf.um  thei.  cont.asito  it'*"  P'^'^^'^S  *'"^'''-' i  f„,,k^.d  i.p  ai  \V  ,l|,am.  A  gleam  of  light  like  m 
W.lli.m  Hallihuiion  was  ualking  home  to  tea  ^^^^^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^  int ,  William',  eyes;  a  ting- 
from  the  ...anulactory.  and  overtook   Henry  A.h-;  ^.^^  ^^^  ^^  ^.^  ^^^^^^^ 

ley  limping  -long.  Henry  wa>  bcl.w  the  middle'  ^^^^^ .,  ^^.^^  ^^^^^^  sharply,  for  William  did 
height,  and  slight  in  form,  with  the  san.e  beanti- !  ^^^^  .^^^^  you  ,  othing  to  .ay  ?' 

ful  face  that  had  marked  his  boyhood,  delicately  ,      ^^^  ^^^  ge„e.ous  of  Miso  Ashley.' 
refined  in  feature,  bright  in  colour;  the  same  two!      .^    ^^^^  .^    ^^^^^    ^^    ^^^^      ^^    j^^^,,    ^.^^^^ 
upright  iii.e,  o(  pain,   kn.t  in   the  smooth  white|^^^^^^  ,. ho  appeared  to   be   in   one   of  his  fitful 

^r^"^-  moods; 'who  is  to  know  whether  things  will  turn 

•Jii.tthe   man   I   wanted,    said   he,  linking  his    ^^^      _^  ^^^^   ^^   ^^^^.^^^   .^  ^,  .^  ^^^,^   ^^  ^^^^ 

arm  wi-hin  William's.  'You  are  a  good  help  up ;  ^^^^  objection  have  you  to  coning  home  with 
a  hill,  and  I  am  tired  and  hot.  '  me  for  the  evening  '     Thai's  what  I  mean.' 

•Wrapped   up  in   thatroat,  with  its  fur  lining,,  "  ,  •  .  . 

I  should  think  you  are!  1  hare  dofled  my  ele-';  'None.  I  can  give  up  my  books  for  a  mght. 
gan.  Cloak,  you  see,  to  day'  book^o-mas  y-u  lh.uk  me.     But  they  w.ll  «- 

•Is  it  off  to  the  British  Museum?'  ;  pect  rae  at  Kast  s. 

William    laughed.     '1   have   not  had   time  to  i      'H^ppy  the  man  that  expectelh  nolbmj !    re- 
.        ,  ^sponded  Henry.     'Disappoint  them. 

'I  am  glad  I  met  with  yon.  You  must  come|  •  "Aa  for  disappointing  them,  I  thouldn't  %o 
hon.e  to  tea  with  me.  Well'  Why  are  you '  murh  mind,  but  I  C4n't  abide  to  disappoint  my. 
hesitating?     You  have  noennagemei.t."  'self,'"    returned    William,   quoting   from  Gold- 

•Nothing  more  than  usual.     My  studies '     J  smith's   good    old  play,   of  y»hich    both   be    and 

•You  «re  studymad  !'  interrupted    Henry  Ash-^  "-"^7  '^ere  fond.  ,,  ^         ^■ 

ley  -What  do  >ou  want  to  be?  A  Socrates?;  'You  don't  m^an  to  .ay  it  would  be  a  d...p. 
.^j     .     ,  r^      I .      w  Jpointment  t«  vou,  the   not  giving   ine    lesson    or 

An  Admiral  Crichton>'  ,  »^  .    .    '        ^  .  u        ,*     .i'    j 

.iu  .1  r        A  ki-      I  »^<>nt  fn,  K*  a  iit^fiil    whatcvcT  it  It,  to  thosc  Working  chap.!    ul'er»a 

'Nothing  so  formidable.     1  want  to  oe  a  useiui  •  "         »^ 

,  ;  Henry  Ashley. 

■   ,  ,  ir  — -,— ,.»»..,i:.i,»,i  nn»  '      'Not  a*  you  would  count  disappointment.  When 

'And  Tou  makesTOur.eir  an  tccomplishrd  one,  'J                                  " 

.                  .         )n        .     I,  „     .k.  To^^.r..,  I  do  not  ret  round  in  an  hour.  It  seems  a.  a  nnol 

a.  a  preliminary  ftep.   Mary  took  up  the  fencing-  •"""».                                    •                       ^,' 

'                   •'           ,           u     k     .  no—  .o.  of  lo»l.        kn"**'  Ibe  men  like  to  .ee  me;  and   I  am 

•tick.  for  you   yesterday       Herbert  Dare  was  at  '  "                                                                ,    l        . 

f  «  I,    ;.  t.bmir  him  tn  h«  -  alwM J.  fearing  that  we  arc  noi  »ure  of  ihcm. 

our    house — some    freak    is   taking  mm   to   oe  a  J               " 

pretty   constant  Tisitor  just  now-and   the  talk  '      'You  speak  as  though  your  whola  M>d»  wart  ia 

turned    upon    Frank.     'You    know,'    broke    off  the  busin.s..' retur.ed  Henry  Ashlej. 

Henry  in  his  quaint  way.  '1  never  use  long  woids        '[  think  my  heart  i.  in  it.' 

when   short   ones  wi4l    serre:  you   learned  ones        Henry   looked   at  him   wi.tfully.  and  bii  Un» 

would   .ay    "co-Tersation.  "      Mr.    Keating  had    gre*  .erioiis.     'William,  I  would   gi»«  all   I  aa 

■aid  to  mv  father  ihal   Fr.nk    Halliburton  wa.  a    worth,   preaent,  atid  to  come,  to  cbaaf*  place* 

brilliaat  •cholar,  »ad  1  reuUed  il  0T«r  lo  Her-<  with  you.' 


iJ 


u 


MRS.  HALLirURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


'To  change  places  w.lii  nicl'  ec  .oed  Will,a>ij,  VVilli.im  calmly  continued.  'But,  if  you  did  so, 
in  Terjr  surprise.  juu   might  no   longer  have  to  complain  of  tbe 

*Yes;   for. you   have   an  ohject    in    life.     Y"U    want  of  an  ol)jf-cl  to  live  for.' 
may  h>4ve  many.     To  be  usclui  ui  jour  genera-        Al  this  moment  ihey  came  in  Tiew  of  William's 
tion  is  ofie.'  ,  homo.     Mrs    Halliburton  happened  to  be  at  one 

'And  so  may  yon  hare  o'jects  in  life.'  of  ih<-.  windows.     William  nodded   his  greeting, 

'With  ihis  encumbrance  1'  He  stamped  his  and  Henry  raised  his  hat.  Presently  H«nry  be* 
lame  leg,  and  a  look  of  kc-eri  vexaiion  seitk-d  it- ;  gan  again: 

self  in  bis  face.  'You  c^n  go  foi  th  iiiu)  the  world  ;  'Pray,  do  you  join  the  town  in  its  gratuitous 
with  your  strong  limbs,  jour  unbroken  health; !  opinion,  that  Henry  Ashley,  of  all  in  it,  is  the 
you  can  work,  or  you  can  play;  you  can  be  ac-  proudest  amiil  the  jirouil  .'* 
tive,  or  you  can  be  still,  at  will.  But  what  am  i  ?  '1  do  not  find  you  proud,'  said  William. 
A  poor  weak  creature;  infirm  of  temper  tortured,  'You!  As  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned, 
by  pain,  condemned  half  my  days  to  the  monot-  comparatively,  I  think  the  boot  might  be  upon 
ony  of  a  sick-room.  Compare  my  lot  with  [  the  other  leg.  Y'ou  might  set  up  for  proud  over 
yours!'  ;me.' 

•There  are  those  who  would  cfcoost  your  lot  in  j  William  could  not  help  laughing.  'Putting 
preference  to  mine,  were  the  option  given  them,' 'joking  aside,  my  opinion  is,  Henry,  that  your 
relumed  William.  'I  must  work.  It  is  a  duty  s  shyness  and  sensitiveness  are  in  fault;  not  your 
laid  upon  me.     You  can  play.'  j  pride.     It  is  ) our  reserve  of  manner  alone  which 

'Thank  you!     How  r'  |  has  caused   Helstonleigh   to  take  up  the  impres- 

•I  am  not  speaking  literally.     Every  good  and  *  gion  that  you  are  unduly  proud. ' 
pleasing  thing;  thai  money   can   purchase    is   at}      'Right,  old  fellow  !' returned  Henry,  in  an  em- 
your  Command.     You  have  but  to  ei  joy  them,  so  )  phaiic  tone.     'If  you  knew  how  far  I  and  pride 
far  as  you  may      One,  sulfTing  as  jou  do    bears    stand  apart— but  let  it  pass.' 
not  upon  him   the   respo  isibiiity  to  use  his  time, ;      Arrived  at  the  entrance  to   Mr.  Ashley's,  Wil- 
that  a   healthy   man   does.     L  ts,  in  thi-t  world,  |  |iam  threw  open   the  gale  for  Henry,  retreating 
Henry,   are,   as   1    believe,    pretty    equally  bal- ,  himself.     'I  must  go  home  first,  Henry.     I  won't 
anced.     Many  would  envy  you  your  calm  life  of'  be  a  quarter  of  an  hour.' 
repose  '  .;      Henry  looked  cross.     'Why  on  earth,  then,  did 

'It  is  not  calm,'  was  the  abrupt  rejoinder,     'it  j  you  not  go  in  as  we  passed  .'     What  was  the  use 
is  disturbed  by  pain   and  aguravaied  by  temper;  j  of  your  coming  up' here,  to  go  back  again  ?' 
and-and-tormented  by  unc  rlainly  '  j      .j  ^j.^^^^^j^j  ^^  ^^^  ^^^  j^^,pi„^  ^^^  , 

'At  any  rate,  you  can  subdue  the  one.'  \     'So  it  was.     but— there  !  don't  be  an  hour.' 

•Which,  pray:'  ,      As  William  walked  rapidly   back,  he  met  the 

•The  iemi>er.     Henry —dropping  hl.^  voice — 'a    -„,„■„„  „/-  ,v,„^     .   ,.  „      ou         j  iv.f 

'  ■'  rr    o  ,    ,     { carriage  oi   Mrs     Ashley.     She  and   Mary  were 

Tictorj  over  you»ovvn  temper  may  be  one  of  the  '  ■„  .,.        .t       .   ,  ,  j,  j       .         ■     j  u-   u  ^ 

■'  ■'  ,  mside.     Mrs.  Ashley  nod>led  as  he  raised  his  hat, 

few  obligatii'ns  laid  upon  vou.  „    .    vi .„„  „j     .    u  „       -.i.  i         j 

'' ,  .    *  ...  ,,    ,  1  ^"d    Mary  glanced   at   him   with  a   smile  and  a 

'I  wish  1  could  live  for  an  object,    grumbled 

Henry. 

'Come  round  with  me  to  East's  sometimes.' 


She  had  grown  up  to  exces- 


heightened  colour, 
sive  beauty. 

A  few  momenjjS,  and  William  met   beauty  of 

'I— dare  say  "  retorted  Henry,  when  he  could  |  another  stjle  ■  Anna  Lynn.  Her  cheeks  were 
find  his  amazea  tongue.  'Tnank  y..u  again,  Mr.  ihe  same  flushed,  dimpkd  cheeks  of  her  child- 
Halliburton.  ■  hood;  the  sam.  sky-blue  eyes  gleaming  from  he- 

W.illiam  laughed  But  hfe  soon  resumed  his  ;  tween  their  long  dutk  lashes;  the  ^ame  piofusion 
seriousness.  'lean  understand  that  for  you,  the  ,  of  5,,!^^  brown  hair;  the  same  gentle,  sweetly 
favoured  son  of  Mr.  Ashley,  icareu  in  your  re- .^  modest  nidm.ers.  William  slopped  to  shake  hands 
finement  and  exclusiveness '  ,  ,,,j,j,  [,gr 

•Enshrined  in  pi  ide — the   failing   that  Helston-        'O-il  alone,  Anna  ." 
leigh  is  pleased  lo  call  my  biseiii.  gsin;.-litlt.  red  ,      'I  am  on  my  way  to  take  tea  with  Mary  Ash- 
under  care  and  coddling  so  greai,  UihI  the  viiry  ,  ley.' 

winds  of  heaven  are  not  suffered  to  visil  n»)  face  !      'Arc  you.'     We  shall  meet  there    then.' 
too  roughly  !'  was  the  imprluous  intei  rnpiion  of  ^     'That  wiH  be  pleasant.     Fare  thee  well  for  the 
Henry  Ashley.     'Come!  brin^  it  all  out.     Don't,    present  William' 

from    motives   of  delicacy,  keep  in  any   of  my  j      She  continued  her  way.   Wil'     n ran  in  home, 
faults,  or  virtues,  or  advantages  !'  J  and  up  to  his  .-.hamber     Dressing  himself  hafctily, 

•I  can  understand,  I  say,  why  you  are  -illir,  '  3  went  to  the  room  where  bis  mother  sat,  aod 
tobr«akthrougb  the  reserve  of  your  ho*-      .at  jod  before  her. 


MKS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


1» 


'Does  my  coat  fit,  mother?'  <      William  edged  himself  on  to  the  lofi,  so  as  to 

'Wny,  where  arc  you  going?' «he  asked.  'cover   Hem y  from    tlie   gaze   ot    any   eyes    that 

*To  Mrs.  Ashlt-y's.  I  bare  put  on  my  new  j  might  be  directed  to  him  from  the  other  part  of 
•oat.  Does  it  fit  ?  Itieemseasj' — ihrowing  up{  the  room.  'J  like  Anna  rery  much,' he  said,  in 
his  arms.  ^  f  a  clear,  low  tone; 'almost  as  1  miglit  like  a  bis-ter; 

•Yes.  it  fits.  I  think  you  are  getting  a  dandy.  [  but  I  have  no  love  for  her,  in  the  sense  jou  would 
Go  along.     I  must  not  look  at  you  too  long.'         ;  imply— if  1  am  not  mistaking  your  meaning.  And 

•Why  not?'  he  asked  in  lurprise.  ;i  never  shall  have.' 

•Lest  I  grow  proud  of  my  eldest  son.     And  I;      Henry    looked    at    him    wistfully.     'On  your 
would  rather  be  proud  of  his  goodness  than  hisl  honour?' 
looks.'  s      'Henry!  was   there   need   to  ask  it?    On  my 

William,  laughing,  gave  his  mother  a  farewell '  honour,  if  you  will, 
kiss.     'Tell  Gar  1  am  sorry  he  will  not  bare  me;      'No,  no;  there  was  no  need:  you  are  always 
at  his  elbow  this  evening,  to   find  fault  with  his  |  truthful.     Bear  wiih  me,  William  !  bear  with  my 
Greek.     Gobd-bye,  mother  dear.'  ;  infirmities.' 

In  truth,  there  was  something  remarkably  no- ;  'My  sister,  Anna  Lynn  might  be,  and  welcom«. 
ble  in   the  appearance  of  William  Halliburton.  ^  My  wife,  never.' 

As  he  entered   Mrs.   A-^hley's  drawing-room,  the  •;      Henry  did  not  answer.     His  face  was  growing 
fact  seemed  to  strike  upon   Henry  with  unusual  ^dan^p  with  physical  pain, 
force,  who  greeted  him  from  his  diptaat  sofa.         ;;     'You   have   one  of  your  spasms   of  suffering 

'So,  that's  what  jou  went  back  for  ! — to  make  ^  coming  on!'  breathed  William.  'Shall  I  get  you 
yourself  look  like  a  buck  !'  he  called  out  as  Wil- ;  anything?' 

liam  approached  him.     'As  if  you  were  not  well/,     'Hush!  only  eit  there,  to  hide  me  from  them: 
enough  before  !     Did  you  dress  for  me,  pray.''       >  and  be  still.' 

'For  you  !'  laughed  William.  'That's  good  !'  William  did  as  he  was  requested,  sitting  so  as 

'In  saying  "me,"  I  include  the  family  lot,'  re- ;  to  screen  him  from  Mrs.  Ashley  and  the  rest.  He 
turned  Henry,  quaintly.  'There's  nobody  else  to  \  held  his  hands,  and  the  paroxysm,  sharp  while  it 
dress  for^'  ;  lasted,   passed   away.     Henry's    very    lips    had 

'Yes,  there  is.     There's  Anna  Lynn.'  >  grown  white  with  pain. 

Now,  in   good  truth,  William  had  no   covert,  .  'You  see  what  a  poor  wretch  lam!' 
meaning  in  giving  Ihii  answer.  The  words  rose  to  ;;      '1  see  that  you  suffer,'  was  William's  compas- 
his  lips,  and   bespoke  them  lii;htly.-  Perhaps  he  i  sionate  answer. 

couid  have  given  a  very  diff.rent  one    had  he  j     'From    henceforth   there   is   a  fresh   bond   of 
been  compelled  to  speak  out  the  inmost  feeling  of  /  union  between  us.  for  you  possess  my  secret.     It 
his  heart.     Strani^e,  however,  was  the  effect  on  '  jg  what  no  one  el.*e  in  the  world  does.     William, 
Henry  Ashley.     He  grasped  William's  arm  with  ;  ihaCs  my  object  in  life.' 
emotion,  and  pulled  his  face  over  him  as  he  lay.        William  did  not  reply.    Perplexity  was  crowd- 

'What  do  you  s:.y?     What  do  you  mean?'  jjng  on  his  mind,  shading  his  countenance. 

•I  mean  nwthing  particular.     Anna  ii  here.'        \      'Well!'   cried    Henry,  beginning  to  recover  his 

'You   shall    not   evade    nie,  gasped  Henry.     'I ;  equanimity,  and  with  it  his  sharp  retorts.   'What 
must  have  it  oui.  now  or  later.     What  is  it  (hat ',  are  y<<u  looking  blue  at  ?' 
i(roii  mean?'  'Will  it  be.  smooth  sailing  for  you,  Henry,  with 

William  stood,  almost  confounded.  Henry  was  I  Mr.  Aslilt-y?' 
evidently  in  painful  excitement;  every  vt-siige  of;      •^e«,  I  think  it  will,'  was  the  hasty  rejoinder: 
clour   had   forsaken    his  scnsiiive  countenance,  i  itg  very   haste,   its- fractious  tone,    proving  that 
and  h<*  white  hands  shook  as  they  held  William.  ;  Henry  was  hy  no  means  so  sure  as  he  would  im* 

•What  do  you  m«an  ?'  William  whispered      •!    P'y-     'I  am  not  as  others  are:  thirefore  he  will 
said  nothing  to  agiiate  you  thus,  that  I  am  aware    'et  minor  considerations  yield  to  my  hapf  iness.' 
of.     Are  we  at  cross  purposes?'  ]     William  lo«.ki-d  uncommonly  grave.  'Mr   Ash- 

A  bright  spot,  bruht  as  any  carmine,  began  to  ley  i»  "ot  all,'  he  t>aid,  atouMng  from  a  reverie, 
flush  into  the  invalifl's  paie  checks,  and  he  moved  ;  *Theic  may  be  difficulties  else*  heie.  She  niust 
his  face  so  that  the  light  did  n.>i  fjll  up..ii  ii.  not  marry  out  of  their  own  society.  Samuel  Lynn 

•I'll  have  11  out,  I  say.     Wnat  is  Anna  Lynn  to    is  one  of  the  strictest  members  of  it.' 
your'  'Rubbish!     Samuel   Lynn  is  my  father'*  ser- 

'Nothing,'  answered  William,  a  smile  paKing  vant,  and  I  am  my  father's  son.  If  S^miiel  should 
his  lips.  take  a  straight- iaced  fit,  and  bold  out,  why,  I'll 

'What   is   she  to  you?'  reiterated  Hearj,  his    turn  broadbrim.' 
toM  ptiafuUj  Mneat.  ^     •Samuel  Lyoo  it  nj  ftttitr'a  Mrrtat!'   la  that 


aOlB.  HALLIBURTON'S  TAOUBLSI. 


Tery  fact,  Willitm  saw  cause  to  fear  that  it  'We  are  by  ourselves.  Patience;  it  does  not  much 
might  not  b«  *uch  plain  sailing  with  Mr.  Ash.ey,  matt«-r,'  he  would  say;  'the  chiid  say*  she  i» 
as  Henry  wished  to  anticipate.  He  could  not  cooler  without  it.'  But  had  Samuel  Lynn  sur- 
help  looking  the  doubts  he  f«lt.  Henry  obserTed  mi-^ed  that  Anna  was  in  the  habit  of  discarding  it 
it.  :  on  everjl  possible  orca>tian    when  she  was  from 

•What's  the  matter  again?'  he  peevishly  asked,  home,  he  had  been  as  severe  as  Patience.  At  Mr. 
'I  do  think  you  were  born  to  be  the  plague  of  my  Ashley's,  especially,  she  would  sit,  as  now,  with- 
lif*  !     My  belief  is,  you  want  her  for  yourself.'      ,  out  it,  her  lovely  face   made   more  lovely  by  the 

•I  am  only  anxious  for  you,  Henry  I  wish  you  aid  of  its  falling  curls.  Anna  did  wrong,  and  she 
•ould  have  assured  yourself  that  it  would  go  knew  that  she  did  it;  but  she  was  a  wilful  girl, 
well, before — before  allowing  your  feelings  to  be  and  a  vain  one.  That  pretty,  timid,  retiring 
irrevocably  bound  up  in  it.  A  blow,  for  you,  manner  concealed  much  self  will,  much  vanity; 
night  be  hard  to  bear.*  though  in  some  things  she  was  as  easily  swayed 

♦How  could  1  help  my  feelings  .>'  retorted  as  a  child. 
Henry.  *I  did  not  fix  them  purposely  on  Anna  She  disobeyed  Patience  in  another  matter.  Pa- 
Lynn.  Before  I  knew  anything  about  it,  they  tience  would  say  to  her,  'Should  viary  Ashley  be 
bad  fixed  themselves.  Almost  before  I  knew  opening  her  instrument  of  music  thee  will  mind 
that  I  cared  for  her,  sh«  was  more  to  me  than  not  to  listen  ta  her  songs:  thee  can  go  into  an- 
the  sun  in  the  heavens.  There  has  been  no  help  other  room  ' 
for  it  at  all,  I  lell  you    So  don't  preach.'  ;      'Oh,  yes,  Patience,'  she  would   answer;  *I  will 

•H  ve  y  u  spoken  to  hei  .>'  ;  mind  ' 

Henry  shook  his  head.  'The  time  has  not  come.  (  But,  instead  of  not  listening,  Miss  Anna  would 
1  must  make  it  rii-ht  with  the  master  before  lean  place  hersrif  close  to  the  piano,  and  drink  in  the 
itir  a  step;  and  1  fear  it  is  not  quite  ripe  for  that,  son^;*  as  if  her  whole  heart  were  in  the  music. 
Mind  you  don't  talk."  j  Music  had  a  great  effect  upon  her;  and  there  she 

William  smiled.     'I  will  mind  *  j  would  sit  Mitran<  ed,  as  though  she  were  in  some 

'You'd  better.  If  that  Quaker  society  got  a  t,right  Eyium.  She  said  nothing  of  this  at 
hint,  there's  no   knowing  what  hullabaloo  they'd    home;  und  the  deceit  was  wrong.  * 

make.  They  might  b*  for  reading  Anna  a  pub-;  They  were  sitting  down  to  tea,  when  Herbert 
lie  lecture  at  Vieeting;  or  get  Samuel  Lynn  to  Dare  came  in.  The  hours  for  meals  were  early 
TOW  he'd  n  )t  give  his  consent.'  !  at  Mr    Ashlej's:  the  medical  men  deemed  it  beit 

•I  snould  argue  in  this  way,  were  I  you,  Henry   ■:  for  Henry.     Herbert  could  be  a  gentleman  when 

With  my  love  so  firmly  fixed  on  Anna  Lynn ^e  chose;  good-looking;  a  so;  quite  an  addition  to 

I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Ashley.'  J  a  drawn. g-room.    He  took  his  stat  between  Mary 

William  started  up.     Mary  Ashley  was  stand- 1  and  Anna, 
ing  close  by  the  sofa.     Had  she  caught  the  pur-  1      'I  say,  how  is  it  you  are  not  dining  at  home  this 
port  of  the  last  words.'  j  evening.''  a.sked  Henry,  who  somehow  did  not  re- 

•Mamma  spoke  twice,  but  you  were  too  busily  ^g^'^  the  Dares  with  any  great  favour, 
engaged  to  hear' >aid    Mary.     'Henry,  James  is\      'id'ned   in   the  middle  of  the  day,' was  Her- 
waiting  to  wheel  your  sofa  to  the  lea-table.'  jbert's  leply. 

Henry    rose.     Passmg   his    arm   through  Wil         'The  condescension !     I  thought  only  plebeians 
liam's  he   approached   the  group      The  servant  |'''d  '►•al-  James,  i,  there  a  piece  of  chalk  in  the 
pushed  the  sofa  after  them.     Standing  together  |  f'«"S«?     I  "'"*t  chalk  that  up.' 
were  MHry  Ashley  and  Anna.     They  pre.-ented  a  '.      'Henry  !  Henry  !'  r.  proved  Mrs.  Ashley, 
great  contrast.     Mary  wore  an  evening  dress  of |      '«»'    let  Mm  talk,  Mrs    Ashley, 'said    Herbert, 
glittering  silk,  its  low  body  trimmed   with  rich  |  with  supr.  me  good  humour.    •  Iheie's  nothing  he 
white  lace;  white  lace  hanging  from   its  drooping  |  I'kes  so  well  as  a  wordy  war.' 
»leeves;ar.d  she  had  on  ornaments  of  gold    Anna}      'Nothing  in   the    wond,'    arquiesced    Henry, 
was  in  grey  merino,  high  in  the  neck,  closed  at  f  Especially  with  Herbert  Dare.' 
the  wrists;  not  a  bit  of  lace  about  her,  not  »n  or- } 
nament;  nothing  but  a  plain  collar  of  white  linen.  / 
•Catch  me  letting  her  wear  those  Methodistical  ^ 
things  when  she  shall  be  mine!'  thought  Henry.  ^ 
•I'll  make  a  bonfire  of  the  lot.'  > 

But  the  Quaker  cap.'    Ah!  it  was  not  there./ 
Anna  had  continued  her  habit  at  home  of  throw- ^ 
ing  it  off.  as  formerly.     Patience  reprimanded  in  /     LAnoHiNo,  talking,  playing  at  proverbs,  earn- 
xain.    She  was  Dot  seconded  by  tJamusl  Lynn,  i'lng  and  payiDg;  forfeits,  it  was  a  merry  group  in 


CHAPTER  IV. 
attbrlt'i    riSLD 


Mftl.  llALLlfiUlllX>If'S  TftOOfiUBB 


]: 


Mrs.  AshVy'g  «>f«win(j.rrtom.     That  lady  hpr«e!f ;! '-hanpef?  nvy   plans   with   re»pc«'f   to   this    T.^oni 

was  not  joinmic  in  the  merriment.     She  sat  npnit   jourocj.     In^iCid   of  iie"  patching  you,  ft  1  had 

at  a  -mall  tahle,  ^ome  worb  in   her  hand,  •peak-,  thought  of,  I  helievt-  I  fihall  send  ."*amuel  Lynn/   - 

ing  a  word  now  ard  then,  and  smiling  to  ht  rself  j      Mr.   Ashley  paused.     William   did   not  imme- 

in  echd  to  some  unusual   hurstn  of  laughter.     It|diately  reply. 

was  surprising  th;4l  only  five  Toices  could  make;     'Samuel   Lynn's    experience    ii    greater  than 

•uch  a  noise    They  were  sitting  in  a  circle:  Mary  '  yours.     It  is  a  new  thing,  ard  he  will  see,  belter 

Ashley    helween   WiHiain    HHllibiirion   sni)  Her-    than  you  could  co,  what  can  and  what  cannot  be 

bert    Dare,    ^nna    Lynn    btt*'en    Herhert   D;tre)done.' 

and  Henry  Ashley,  Henry  and    William  side  by/      'Very  well,  sir,' at  length  answered  William. 

side.  '      'You  speak   as  though  you  felt  disappointed,' 

Time,  in  these  happy  moments,  passes  rapidly.  J  remarked  Mr.  Ashley. 
In  due  course,  the  hands  oi  th«-  Frt-nch  clock  on;  William  did  feel  disappointed.  But  his  incen- 
the  mantelpiece  pointed  to  talf-past  eight,  and  ,  t'TC  to  the  feeliig  lay  far  detper  than  Mr.  Ash- 
its  silver  tones  rung  out  the  chimes.  They  were  ley  supposed.  '1  should  like  to  have  gone,  sir, 
at  the  end  of  the  game — Herbert  Dare  standing' very  much.  But — of  course  my  liking,  or  not 
in  a  corner,  sent  there  to  pay  the  penalty  of  the|  liking,  has  nothing  to  do  with  ii.  Perhaps  it  it 
last  forfeit — and  just  settling  themselves  to  com-;!  as  well  that  1  should  not  go,'  he  resumed,  more 
mence  another.  The  striking  of  the  hall-hour;  in  self-soliloquy,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  reconcile 
ar  used  William,  and  he  g'anced  towards  the|  himself  io  the  disappointment  by  argument,  than 
clock.  I  in  observation  to  Mr.  Ai'iley.     'I  do  not  see  how 

•Half-past  eight!  who  would   have  thought  it ?|  the  men    would   have   got  along  without  ate  at 
I  had  no  idea  it  was  so   late      I    must  leave  youj  East's.' 
just  for  half  an  hour,' he  a<lded,  rising.  ,        -Ay,  that's  a  grave  consideration,' replied  Mr. 

•Leave  for  what  ?'  cried  Henry  Ashley.  /  Ashley,  in  a  juking  lone,  as  he  turned  to  walk  to 


•To  go  as  f«r  as  East's.     1  will  not  stop  ' 


'  his  i>wn  door. 


Henry  brok«  into  a 'wordy  war  '  as  Herbert/  William  stood  still,  nailed  as  it  were  to  the 
Dare  had  phrased  it  earlier  in  the  evening.  Wil-^spoi,  looking  alter  his  master.  A  most  unwcl- 
liam  smi  ed,  and  overruled  him  in  his  quiet  way  /  cume  idea  had  flashed   over  him;  and  in  iKe  im- 

•They  tiold  my   promise   to  go  round   this  eve- ^  pulse  of  the    momcni  he   followed    Mr.   AsbJey, 
Ring,' he  said.     'I  gave  it  them  unconditionally  ^speaking  it  out.     Even  in  the  night's  obicurity, 
1  must  just  step  there  to  tell  them  i  cannot  come  \  his  emotion  was  perceptible. 
— if  that's    not  a  eontradiction.     Don't  loi  k  so  |     *Mr.  Ashley,  the    suspicion   cast  on  me,  at  tb«» 
cross,  fieiiry.'  ^time  that  cheque  was  lost,  has  nolljeen  the  cause 

'Of  course,  you  don't  mean  coming  back,'  re- ^ — the  cause  of  your  declining  to  intrust  me  with 
•entfully  spoke  lleury.     'When   you  get   there,  ^  this  commission.'' 
there  you'll  stop.'  Mr.  Ashley  looked  at  him  with  lurprite.     But 

•No;  I  have  told  you  I  would  not.  But  if  1  Uhat  William's  agitation  was  all  too  real,  causing 
let  them  expect  me  all  the  evening,  they  will  be;*^^^"  ^>'S  breath  to  be  impeded,  his  words  uneven, 
looking  and  waiting,  at,d  do  no  good.'  .  te  would  have  laughed  at  him. 

He   went   out  as   he   spoke,  and   quitted   the  I     'W.iliam,  I  think  you  are  turning  silly.    There 
house.     At  the  front  gate,  as  he  reached  it,  Mr     '^^  "°  suspicion  cast  on  you.' 
Ashley  was  coming  in.     Mr.  Ashley  had   been  to        ''^'°"  ^^''^  "^'""  ''"■'"•■'^  '"  ^^*  ""•""•  "''  J^" 
the  manuf4Ctory;  he   did    rot  often   go  after  tea.    ^'^"  """   'f'''''*""    '"    ™*    *°    ^«^"  ^n^  Jo"  *' re 
•Going    already,     William."      Mr.    Ashley    ex-    '*^""?''^    '^'^   '    ^"  "^^   inculpated.'  was  Wil- 

,  J    •  .     r  ;  liam  8  impulsive  answer, 

claimed,  in  an  accent  of  surprise.  {  '^ 

I      'Spoken  to  you  !  where  was  the  need  .'     Whv, 

'Mot   for   long,   sir.     I   must   ju.t    look   in  at    William,   my  whole    life,   my  daily    intercouri^ 

with  you,  is  only  so  much  proof  that  you  hava  my 


East's. 

•Is   that   scheme    likely  to  prosper.'    Can  you 

keep  the  men  •' 
'Yes,  irideail,  I  think  so.    My  hopes  are  strong  ' 
•WrII,    ihera's    nothing    like   hope,'  answered 

Mr    Ahley,  »ith  a  liugh      'But   1  shall  wi  ndei 


full  confidence.  Should  I  admit  you  to  my  home, 
to  the  companionship  of  my  chiidreo,  if  i  l>ad  do 
better  frtiih  in  you  tfi»n  that?' 

'True,'  said    William,   beginning    to    recover 
himself      'It  was  a  thought  Ih^t  flatbed  over  me, 


if  you  do  keep  Ihcm      William,'  he  added,  after  sir,  when  you  said  I  was  not  to  be  sent  on  tha 

a  slight   pau««,   his  tone  <  hanginic  to  a  busiiie>-k  journey.     1  should   not  like  you  to  doubt  me;  I 

one, '1  have  a  few   Hoids  to  say  to  you.     I  was  could  scarcely  live  under  it. ' 

about  speaking  to  you  iti  the  counting-house  this  'William,  you  re^/runcbed  me  with  not  baTisg 

•ftvnitfwu,  but  •wnwlbiug  put  it  aside.     1  hart  sirrrH  m        ' 


16 


MRS.  HALf^rBURTO^f'S  TROUBLES. 


'I  beg  your  parflon,  sir.     1  never  thought  rf 
tuch  a  Itiin:.^  as  reproai;ti.     1    would    nol  presum 
to  do  it  ' 

'I  have  not  stirred  in  the  matter,'  resiimeri 
Mr.  A-hley  'A  very  di^QLcrceable  su^picior' 
arises  in  my  mind  at  time><,  a-*  to  how  the  cheqii< 
went:  and  I  do  not  choose  to  stir  in  it.  Have  jun 
any  (iuspicion  on  the  poinir' 

The  que-tion    took    William    by  purprioe.     H- 
stammered  in  his  answer;  an  unusual  thing  fo>  | 
him  to  do.    'N o.'  j 

'I  ask  if  you  have  a  suspicion  ?' quietly  repeated  > 
Mr.  Ashley,  in  a  tone  of  meaning,  as  if  hit  tools  < 
William's  answer  for  nothing,  or  had  not  hear"  ^ 

it.  ■; 

William  spoke  out  then  readily.  'A  suspicion  f 
has  crossed  my  mind,  sir.  Hut  it  is  one  1  should  ]■ 
'not  like  to  impart  to  you.'  ^ 

'Thit'i    enoui^h.     1    see.     White    voluntarily  5 
took  the  loss  of  the  money  on  himself.     He  rami  ? 
to  me  to  say  S"-,  therefore,  I   infer  that  it  has  ii  ; 
some  private  manner  been  refunded  to  him.     Mi    j 
Dare  veered  round  and  advised  me  not  to  investi  ^ 
gate  the  affair,  as  I  was  no  loser;  Delves  hintei 
the  same;  altogether,  I  can  see  through  the  thini 
pretty  clearly,  and  1  am  content  to  leave  it  alone. 
Are  you  satisfied  ?    If  not ' 

•Mr.  Ashley  broke  off  abruptly.  William 
wailed. 

•So  don't  turn  foolish  again.     You  and  T  now 
understand  each  other.     William  !'  he  emphati 
cally  added,  'I  am  getting  to  like  you  almost  as  I 
do  my  own  children.     I  am  proud  of  you;  and    I  ] 
«liall  be  prouder  yet.     God  bless  you,  my  boy  !'   i 

It  was  so  very  rare  that  the  calm,  dignific'  | 
Thomas  Ashley  was  betrayed  into  anything  likf  ; 
demonstrativeness,  that  William  could  only  stan.  '/ 
and  look.  And  while  he  looked,  the  door  closei  ', 
on  his  master. 

He  went  away  with  all  bis  speed,  calling  in  ai 
his  home.  Were  the  truth  to  be  told,  perhap- 
William  was  quite  as  anxious  to  be  back  at  Mi 
Ashley's,  as  Henry  was  that  he  should  bt 
Scarcely  stopping  to  lay  a  word  of  greeting,  hi 
opened  a  drawer,  took  from  ic  a  small  case  c- 
fossils,  and  then  searched  for  something  else 
something  whicli  appaieiilly  he  could  not  find. 

•Have  any  of  jou  seen  my  miccoscope  ?'  he 
asked,  turninji  to  tlie  group  at  the  table  bendinj: 
over  their  books. 

Jane  looksd  round.  'My  dear,  I  lent  it  to  Pa- 
tieiiee  to-day.  I  suppose  she  forgot  to  bring  i! 
back.     Gar,  will  you  go  and  ask  hc-r  I'or  it.'' 

•Don't  disturb  yourself,  Gar,' said  VViHiam.  'i 
am  going  out.     !'JI  a»k  Patience  mys.-.lf.  * 

Patience  was  alone  in   her  parlour.     She  re 
turned  hiro  the  microscope,  saying  the  reason  sht  ; 
bad  a»t  f»i  it  ia  wm,  that  ih«  had  oot  had  tuna 


'■'-  use  it.     'Thee  art  in  evening  dresg!'  she  re« 
i.Trked  to  Willuirn. 

'I  am  at  Mrs.  .A«h!e\''.  f  have  only  come  out 
r>r  a  few  minutes.  Thank  you.  Good  night, 
Patience.' 

'Wait    thee    a    moment,  William.    Is    Anna 

ady  to  come  home  .'* 

•Vo,  that  she  is  not.     Why  .>' 

'I  want  to  send  for  her.  Samuel  Lynn  is 
^pending  the  evening  in  the  town,  so  I  must  send 
'rrace.  And  I  don't  care  to  send  her  lata.  She 
will  only  get  talking  to  John  Pembridge,  if  she 
^^oi-s  out  after  he  is  home  from  work.' 

William  smiled.  'It  is  natural  that  she  should, 
I  suppose.     When  are  they  going  to  be  married?' 

Shortly, '  answered  Patience,  in  a  tone  not 
juite  so  equable  as  usufil.  Patience  saw  no  good 
in  people  getting  married  in  general;  and  she  was 
vexed  at  the  prospect  of  losing  Grace  in  particu- 
ar.  'She  leaves  us  in  a  fortnight  from  this,'  the 
continued,  alluding  to  Grace,  'and  all  her 
hougtits  seem  to  be  bent  now  upon  meeting  John 
Pemtiridge.  Could  thee  bring  Anna  home  for 
me.'' 

'With  pleasure,' replied  William. 

'That  is  well,  then.     Grace  does  not  deserve 
lo  go  out  to-night;  for  she  wilfully  crossed  me  to-  ■* 
lay.     Good-evening,  William.* 

The  fossil  case  in  his  hand,  and  the  microscope 
in  his  pocket,  William  made  the  best  of  his  way 
to  Honey  Fair.  Robert  East,  Stephen  Crouch, 
yrumm,  Thornycroft,  Carter,  Cross,  and  some 
'lalf-dozen  others,  were  crowded  round  Robert's 
ruble.  William  handed  them  the  fossils  and  the 
iiiicroscope;  told  the  men  to  amuse  themselves 
with  them  for  that  night,  and  he  would  explain 
iiore  about  them  on  the  morrow.  He  was  ever 
■  nxious  that  the  men  should  have  some  object  of 
anusement  as  a  chief  point  on  these  evenings; 
inything  to  keep  their  intcrttst  awakened. 

Before  the  half  hour  had  expired,  he  was  back 
it  Mr.  Ashley's.  The  proverbs  had  been  given 
ip,  and  Mary  was  at  the  piano.  Mr.  Ashley  had 
•ecn  accompanying  her  on  his  flute,  on  which 
nstrument  he  was  a  brilliant  player,  and  when 
'Villiam  entered,  she  was  singing  a  duet  with 
Herbert  Dare.  Anna — disobedient  Anna — was 
s»^ated  close,  listening  with  all  her  cars  and  heart 
to  the  music,  her  up-turned  countenance  quite  a 
sight  to  look  upon,  in  its  rapt  pleasuro. 

'I  think  you  could  sing,'  spoke  Henry  Ashley 
to  her,  in  an  under  tone,  after  watching  bar 
while  the  song  lasted. 

Anna  shook  her  head.  •!  may  not  try,'  she 
"aid,  raising  her  blue  eyes  to  him  for  one  rao- 

inent.and  then  droppirig  tbem. 

'he  time  may  come  when  you  maj/  returned 
Hwry,  in  a  daoper  wkiaper. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


17 


You  might  have 


She  made  no  answer;  she  did  not  lift  her  ej«5; 
but  the  fiim'est  possih'e  stnile  parted  her  rn-'N 
lips — a  smile  wliicli  seemed  lo  express  a  'eU-jcon- 
Bciousnpss  that  perhaps  that  tinie  mii^ht  come. 
And  Henry,  shy  and-  sensitive,  stood  apart  and 
gazed  upon  her,  his  heart  beating.  .  -  ^ 

'Y.>.m}r  lady.'s.M<l  Wi'liam,  advancing,  'do  you  !''areof  Miss  Lynn?  ■  As  much  eo  asyou,  at  any 

know  thit  a  special  honour  h^  been  assigned  me  ;  '■■'^''• 

to-night  ?  ■  One  that  concerns  you  '  '  Possibly,'  coolly  returned  William,  not  losing 

.  .     ,t  /•  11  ou     r  11  his  good-huiuoiired  tone.     Herbert  Darcliad  given 

Anna  raised  her  eyes  fully  now.     She  felt  as  °  '' 


been  responsible,  you  know. 
aaiird  for  me.' 

llespoUe  ill  good  humour,  making  a  joke  of  it. 
Herbert  Dare  dit^..•)ot  ajipear  to  receive  it  as  one. 
He  retorte(}  haughtily — 

'  Do  you  suppose  1   am  not  capable  of  taking 


Anna  his  arm.      VVilliam  walked  near  her  on  the 
other  side.     Tfuis  they  reached  Mr.  Lyrin's. 

•  Good  night,'  said  Herbert,  shaking  ban  la  with 
her.     •  Good  night  to  you,  Halliburton.' 

•  Good  night,'  replied  William. 
HKrbert  Dare  set  off  ru^ining     William  knocked 


much  at   her  ease  with  William  as  she  did  with  '' 
her  father   or  Patience.     'What  dost  thee  say, 
William?     An  honour? 

'That  of  seeing  you  safely  home.     I — — '  i 

'What's  that  for"  interrupted  Anna.  'Where's  j 

™^   *    ^^'  at  the  door,  cwid   waited   until  it   was    opened. 

'He   is   not   at  home   this  evening.     And  Pa- j  Then  he  likewise  shook  hahi^s   with  Anna   and 
tience  did  not  care  to  send  out  Grace.     I'll  take  ;  ^aw  her  in. 
care  of  you.'  |      Fr'^nk  and  Gar  wet:e  putting  up  their  books  for 

In  spite  of- William's  observation  not  being  the  night,  when  William  ».ntcrtd.  The  boarders 
•peciafly  called  forth,  he  could  n^t  but  observe  f^ad  gone  to  bed.  Jane,  a  very  unusual  thing  for 
the   suH.len  flush,  the  glow  of  pleasure,  or  what  { i„.r,  was  sitting  by  the.  fire,  doing  nolhing. 


looked  like  pleasure,  that  overspread  Anna's 
countenance  at  the  information.  'What's  that 
for.''  bo  thought,  borrowing  her  recent  words. 
But  Mary  heg&n  to  sing  again,  and.  his  attention 
was  diverted. 

Ten  o'clock  was  the  signal  for  their  departure.  • 
As    t'lry    were   going   out — Wiilium,    Anna,  and  ; 
Herbert  Dare,  who  took  the  opportunity  'o  leave  i 
with  them — Henry  Ashley  limped  after  them,  and 
drew  William  aside  in  the  hall.  ■  | 

•H.nour  bright,  miii'l,  my  friend!'  > 


'  Am  I  not  idle,  William  ?'  she  said. 

William  bent" to  ki^s  her.  'There's  no  need 
for  you  to  be  anything  but  idle  now,  m  jther.' 

•No  need!  William,  you  know  belter. 
There's  great  need  that,  none shouM  be  idle;  none 
in  all  the  world.  Out  I  have  a  bad  headache  to- 
night.' 

'  William,'  called  out  Gar,  *  they  brought  this 
round  for  you  from  Rasl'b.  Toung  Tom  carae 
.vith  it.' 

It  was  the  case  of  fossils  and  t>ic  microscope. 


Willi.im  did  not  under>laMd.     'Honour  bright,  >  William  observed  that  they   netd   not  have  sent 


alwajs,'  said  he.  'But  what  do  you  mean  ?' 

'You'll  not  get  making  love  to  her  as  you  go 
home!' 

William  could  not  help  laughing.  He  turned 
his  amused  face  full  on  Henry.  'Be  at  rest.  1 
would  not  care  to  make  love  to  her  had  I  fuU 
leave  aiid  license  from  the  Qt/aker  bociety, 
granted  me  in  public  conclave.' 


ihtm,  a«  he  should  wanltln'in  there  flu  the  tijrxt 
evening.  •  Pdtienre  said  she  tiud  nothadtiroe  lo 
use  the  microscope,' he  continued.  'Itliuikl  will 
take  it  in  lo  her.  I  supposw  she  ha«  been  buying 
linen,  and  wants  to  see  if  the  threads  are  even.' 

'  The  Lynns  will  be  gone  to  bed  at  this  time,' 
^aid  Jane. 

'  Not  t  •-night.     I  have  but  just  seen  Anna  home 
'Do  you   think    I   did  not  see  her  hrlghtcnei!  !  'rom  Mrs.  Alhley's;  aid  .Vlr.  Lynn  is  gone  out 
countenance  when  you  told  her  she  was  to  g-  ',  'o  supper.' 
home  with  you.''  retorted  Henry.  )  ,    He  turned  to  leave  (he  room  with   the  micros- 

•  I  saw  it.  loo.  I  coiclud..  she  wa<<  pleased  thai  |  ■'"f'^'  "^"^  ^"  '^"  '"°'*'"S  "^  ^''«  ^  '^^ '''•  ""'^  ^*'"*^ 
her  fitlier  wa*  not  coming  r.,r  her,  liule  undul.  )  i''«  l-an  of  it.  A  few  minutes,  and  William  final- 
fulthing!     However  It  may  have  been,  rely  upoii  j   ^  went  out. 

it  the  brightening  was  not  for  me,'  Patience   came  to  t4ie  door,  in   answer  to  hit 

'knock.     She  thaiikt'd  him  for  the  microscope,  and 

Pressing  his  hand  warmly,  with  a  pressure  thai  ^  ^^^^^  ^  n,i„me  or  two  chatting.   '  Patience  was 
no  false  friend  ever  give,  W.lliam  hastened  away .  j  ,-0,,^  „f  gossip;  there  was  no  denying  it. 
It  was  time.       Herbert  Dare  and    Anna  had    nof ' 


Good 


«  Will  Ihee  not  walk  inr* 
wailed  (or  him,  but  were  evcr  so  far  ahead.  j       •  jjot   now,'  he  said,  turning  away. 

•  Very  poliW  of  you !'    cri.d  Wjlliam,  when  he  ;  nighi,  Patience.' 
cauilii  them  up.      •  Anna,  bad  you  gone  pitching:        '  G.»od   night  to  theci      Thee  »end    in  Anna, 
olf  lb  It  part  of  the  palti  thai  Ihey    are    mending,    pli  a«e.     Sti«  id  haviiij(  a  prelt/ loog  talk  with  Iby 
•nd^brokeo  your  b»«d  to  ihm  road,  I   should  bava    mother.' 


]8 


MRS.  HALUBt5RT02f 'S  TROUBLEa. 


Willlitn  WM  At  ft  !oM.  •  I  saw  Anna  ia  from  ,  together!  and  tliought  after thonghf  Crowded  on  ■ 
Mr.  Ashley's.'  '  his  ruind;   one  idea,   due   remembraucei- chasing 

•  She  did  hut  ask  whether  her  father  was  home,  ,  another, 
ftnd  then  ran  through  the  houve,' replied  Patience,  i       Was  this  the  explanation  of.  the  plaid  cloak, 

•  She  had  a  message  for  thy  mother,  she  said,  from  \  whjch  had  paraded  slralthily  on  that  very    field-. 
Margaret  Ashley.'  .    path,  during  the  past  winter?     There  could  not 

•  Mrs.  Ashley  do6s  not  send  messages  to  my  j  be  a  doubt  of  it.  .A.nti  was  it  in  this  manner  that 
mother,'    returned   William,   in  -some    wonder.  ;  Anna's  Qying  absences  from  home  were  spent— 

•  They  have  no  acquaintance  with  each    other—  !  absences   which  sl^,  in  her  U[iptirdonay«  deceit, 
beyond  a  bow,  in  passing.'  .:  had  accounted  for  to  Patience  by  saying  that  she 

'  She  mu.-)t  have  sent  her  one  to-night— why  else  was-with  Mrs.  Halliburton.'  Alas  for  Anna! 
should  the  chi  d  go  in  to  ddiver  it.-'  persisted  '  aIus  for  all  who  deviate  by  ^in  untruth  from  the 
Patience.  '  Not  but  that  Anna  is  always  running  :  straight  path  of  rectitude  !  If  the  misyuided 
into  thy  hoQse  at  nights.  I  fear  she  must  trouble  ,  child — she  was  little  better  than  a  cUild-»-could 
thy  mother  at  her  class.'  ;  but  have  setju  the  future  that  was  before  her  j.     It 

She  never  stays  long  enough  for  that,'  replied  i  ^^.y  bave  been  very  pleasant,  very  romantic  to 
William.  'When  she  dot- s  comfe  in — and  It  is  j  gtgal  a  march  on  Patience,  and  pace  cut  there,  all 
not  often — she  just  opens  the  door;  '  How  dost  '  ,n,jgpg„(jen4,  in  the  cold,  chattering  to  Herbert 
thee,  friend  Jane  Halliburton.''  and  out  again  '      !  Oare;  listening  to  his  protestations  that  he  cared 

•Then  thee  can  know  nothing  about  it,  William. /(-jj^  ^f,{jQj^  j„  11,5  ^^j-ij  but  herself;  never  had 
I  tell  thee  she  never  stays  less  than  an  ho.ur,  a>'d  L^^gj]^  never  should  care:  but  it  was  laying  up  for 
she  is  always  there.  I  say  to  her  that  one  of  |  ^^^^^  ^  ^^y  ^^  reckoning,  the  like  -f  which  had 
these  evenings  thy  mother  may   likely  b«  hinting  ;  ^^^^^^  c^^^..■^  p„  ^  ^^J^„g  jj^aj^     Wi'i.ja.  te*  med 


to  her  that  her  room  will  be  more  acceptable  than 
her  company.  Thee  send  her  home  now,  pease.' 
William  turned  away.  Curious  tliou.hi.-»  wt.rt 
passing  through  hii  mind.  Th:it  Anna  did  not  go 
in,  in  the  frequent  way  Patience  intimated;  iha! 
she  rarely  stajed  above  a  minute  or  two,  h« 
knew.     He  knew— at  least,  tie  fell  perfectly  suie 

that  Anna  was  not  at  thi«  house  now;   h.jd  not 

been  at  it.     And  yet   Patience  said   '  Send  hei 

home.'  »    ,        ,        . 

•  Has  Anna  been   here.'    he  asked,  when   he 

went  in. 

•Anna.'    No.' 

N6t  just  that  moment,  to  draw  observation,  bm 
presently,  William  quitted  the  room,  and  wen' 
into  the  garden  at  the  back.  A  very  wnpleasaii' 
suspicion  had  arisen  in  his  mind.  It  might  no' 
have  occurred  to  him,  but  for  certain  glance> 
which  he  had  observed  pass  that  evening  be 
tween  Herbert  Dare  and  Anna— g'sncc*  of  con 
fidence— as  if  they  had^aprivHte  mutual  under 
standing  on  some  point  or  other.  He  had  no' 
understood  them  ih^n  :  he  very  much  feared  hi 
was  ahout  to  understand  theni  now. 

Opening  the  gate  leading  to  the  field  at  t' 1 
back,  commonly  called  Alterly's  Pield,  he  looke. 
cautiously  out.  For*  a  moment  or  two  he  roiil- 
»ee  nothing.  The  hedge  was  thirk-n  either  side, 
and  no  living  being  appeared  to  be  undernt-ath  its 


to  tnke  it  all  in  at  a  glance;  and,  rising  tuinultur 
oi/siy  over  other  unpleasant  thoughts,  came  the 
lu  i;e  ubrance  of  Henry  Ashley's  misplaced  and 
ill  started  h  ve. 

With  another  deep  breath  that  was  more  like  a 
rroan — for  Herbert  Dare  never  brought  good  to 
anybody  i^i  his  life,  and  William  knew  it — Wij- 
iiam  set  olf  towards  them.  Whether  they  heard 
iiie  footsteps,  or  whether  they  deemed  the  time 
or  parting  had  come,  certain  it  was  that  Ileibert 
:  vvas  gone  before  William  could  reach  them,  and 
;  \nna  was  speeding  towards  her  home  with  a 
i^lit  and  fleet  step.  William  placed  himself  in 
ler  way,  and  she  started  aside  with  a  scream  that 
v«-nt  echoing  through  the  field.  Then  they  had 
■  ot  heard  him. 

'William,  is  it  thee.'    Thee  hast  frightened  me 
learly  out  of  my  senses.' 

'Anna,' he  gravely  said,  'Patience  is  waiting 
or  you.' 
Anna  Lynn's  imagination  led  her  to  all  sorts  of 
uitastic  fears.  'Oh,  William,  thee  hast  not 
iren  in  to  Patience!'  she  exclaimed,  in  a  fit  of 
embling.  'Thee  hast  not  been  to  our  house  to 
eek  11  el' 

They  had  reached  his  gate  now.  He  hailed, 
.Hid  tO(jk  her  hand  in  his,  his  manner  impressive, 
his  voice  firm      'Anna,  I  must  speak  to  you  as  I 


shade.     But  he  saw  farther  when  his  eyes  became  |  would  to  my  own  sister;  as  1  might  to  Janey.had 
acc'istomed  to  the  obscurity.  '  «he  lived,  and  been  drawn  into   this   undesirable 

Pacing  slowly  in  company,  were.Herhert  D.^re  j  imprudence.     Though,  indeed,  1  should  nit  then 
and  Antra.      Now  moving  on,  a  urw   steps;  now  j  s-peak,  but  a.t.     What  tales  are  ih.-y  that  Heibert 
stopping  to    converse  more    at:  .^ase        William    I>-"e  i.s,deceivifg  you  witi.    ' 
drew  a  dp.'p  breath.     He  saw  q;i!c  «  nough  lobe        -Hast  thee  been  in  to  Patience.'    Hasttbeebeen 
eur«  this  Wfcs  notth«  first  time  they  had  so  paced  1  iu  t«  Patience  ?'  reiterated  Acna. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES.  19 

•Patience  knows  nothing  of  this.       She   thinl<*    I  lio  not  care  to  mttt  him.     Cfin  thee  not  beliey* 
you  are  at  our  house.       I  ask    jou^  Anna,   what  -me  ?' 

foolish  tales  Hfrherl  Dar*-  is  deceiving  y.iu  with?  ■      He  did  believe  her,  implicitly.     Her  eyes  were 

Anna— relieved    on    the  score   of  her  flight— .  streamirg   d..wn   Avjih    tears;    her    pretty  hands 

shootc  her  head  petiiUntly.     'He  »•*  not  deceiving  ■  ching  about  him.     He  did  like  Anna  very   much, 

me  with  any.    He  would  not  deceive."  a..d  hewould  not  diaw  down  vexation  upon  her, 

'Anna;  hear  me.     His  very  nature,  as  I  bc'ieve,  i  if  it  rould  be  avt.ided  with  expediency. 
i^  deceit.     I  fear  he  has  little  truth,  little  honour  ;      ;!  will  rely  upon  you,  then,  Aiina.   Believe  me, 
with  him.     Is  Herbert  professing  to — to  loveywu.' !  ypy  could  notpick  out  a  worse  friend  in   all  Hel- 
*I  will  not  answer  thee  aught.     1  will  not  heai  i  stonleigh,    than    Herbert    Dare.     I    Lave    jour 
thee  speak  against  Herbert  Dare.'  (  word  >' 

'Anna,' he  continued,  in  a   lower  tone,    'you'      'Yes.     And  I  ha>M}  thine.' 
.  ought  lo  be  afraid  of  Herbert  Dare.     He  is  not  a  j      He  placed  her  arm  within  his  own,  and  led  her 
good  man.'  •  ,    \lo  the  back   door  of   her  house.     Patience  wai 

How  wilful  she  was!  'It  is  of  no  use  thy  talk-  !  standing  at  it.  *1  liave  brought  you  the  little 
ing,'  she    reiterated,    putting  her  fingers   to  her    iruant,' tie  said 

ears.  'Herbert  Dare  is  good.  1  will  not  hear  *lt  is  well  thee  hast,' replied  Patience.  'I  had 
thee  speak  agaifist  him.'  jjustopeiitd  the  door  to  come  alter  her.     Arma, 

Then  Anna,  as  you  meet  it  in  this  way,  I  must  ihee  ait  worse  than  a  wild  ttiing.  Running  otl  in 
inform  your  father  or  Patience   of  what  I    have    this  manner !' 

seen.  If  you  will  not  keep  yourself  out  of  harm's  It  had  not  been  in  William's  way  to  see  much 
way,  they  must  do  it  lor  you.'  of  Anna's  inward  qua'ities     He  had  not  detected 

It  terrified  her  beyond  everything.  Anna  could  her  deceit;  ht.  did  nuC  know  that  she  could  be  nn- 
have  died  rather  than  suffer  her  escapaxle  to  get  truiluul  when  it  suiltd  her  so  to  be.  He  had  firm 
to  the  ears  of  home.  'Mow  can  thee  talk  of  faith  in  her  word,  never  questioning  but  it  might 
barm,.  Williarin  .»  What  harm  is  likely  to  come  to  be  cl.  pended  upon.  Ncveitheless,  when  he  came 
me?  I  did  no  more  harm  talking  to  Herbert  i'iiie  afiei  v«ard9  to  reflect  upon  the  matter,  he  deemed 
hert,  than  I  did,  talking  to  him  in  Margaret  A-ii-  it  ii,if.ii  oe  his  duly  to  give  Patiei.ce  a  little  word 
ley's  drawing-room.'  '  ,  of  cum. ion.     And  this  he  could  do  without  com- 

'My  d''>'  ^•^'Id,  you  do.not  underslaiiJ  things,'    promising  Anna, 
hoanswc.  'The   very  fact  of  your  stealing'      He  contrived  to  see  Patience  alone  the  very 

from  your  Lo.i>p  to  walk  about  in  this  manner,  next  day.  She  began  talking  of  their  previous 
however  innocent  it  maybe  in  itself,  would  do    evening  at  the  Ashleys. 

you  incalculable  hafm  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  'Yes,'  observed  William,  'it  was  a  pleasant 
Aud  I  am  quite  sure  that  ii  no  shape  can  Herbert  evening.  It  would  have  been  all  the  pleasanter, 
Dare  bring  yon  good,  or  conduce  to>ourgood.  though,  but  for  one  who  was  there — Herbert 
Tell   me  one  thing,  Annai.Htive  you  learnt  to    Dare.' 

care  much  for  him  :'  /     '1  do  not  admiro  the  Dares,'  said  Patience,  in  a 

•I  don't  care  for  hirh  at  &11,'  responded  Anna.  ,  frijgid  tone. 

•No!     Then  why  walk  about  with  him.*'  }     'Nor  I.     But  I  observed  one  thing.  Patience — 

'Because  it's  fun  to  cheat  Patience.'  '  that  he  admires  Anna.     Were  Anna  my  sistur,  I 

'Oh,  Anna,  this  is  very   wrong,  very  CpoHsh.    shoulcHiot  like  her  to  be  too  much  admired  by 

Do  you  mean  what  you  say — that  you  do  not  care    Herbert  Dare.     So  take  caie  of  her.'  , 

for  him.''  Patience  looked  steadily  at  him.     William  con- 

'Of  course  I  mean  it,'  she  ansNvered.  'I  think  tinned,  his  tone  dropped  to  a  confideoli<«l  one: 
he  is  very  kind  and  pleasant,  and  he  gave  me  a  'You  know  what  Herbert  Dare  is  said  to  be, 
pretty  locket.  But  thai'.')  all,  William,  tliee  will  not  Patience — fonder  of  leading  people  to  ill  than  to 
tell  upon  me.'' she  continued," clinging  to  Ins  arm,  good.  Anna  is  giddy-->-as  you  yourself  leil  her 
her  tone  changing  to  one  of  imploring  entreaty,  twenty  times  in  a  day.  1  would  keep  faer  care- 
as  the  terror,  which  sh«  had  been  endeavoring  to  fully  under  my  own  eye.  1  would  not  even  allow 
hide  with  li^ht  words,  returned  upon  her.  •Wil-  her  to  run  into  our  house  at  nighl,  as  she  is  fond 
liam!'  thee  an  kind  aiid  obliging— thee  will  not  of  doiog.'  he  added,  with  marked  emphasis.  'Sbt 
tell  upon  me!  I  will  prom'se  thee  never  to  meet  is  as  iafe  there  as  she  i»  liere;  but  it  u^iviDg  her 
Herbert  Dare  again,  if  thee  will  not.'  i  a  taste  of  liberty  that  she  may  not  be  the  bnier 

•It  would  be  for  your  own  sake,  Anna,  that  I  ■  for  iif  the  en^.  When  she  comes  in,  send  Orac* 
should  speak.  How  do  1  know  that  you  would  with  her,  or  bring  tier  your -ell;  J  will  b««  her 
keep  your  word  ?'  ho/ne  again.     Tell  her  she  is  a  frowo-up  vuuof 

'1  give  thee  my  promise  that  1  will !  I  will  not  lady  now,  and  it  is  not  proper  vhul  tbe  bbouid  go 
meet  Herbert  D*t9  in  this  way  again.  I  tell  the«  nut  uoattaoded,'  be  ooacluded,  Uughiug 


so 


MRS,  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


thank  thee  kindly,  Wiliiam.' 


CHAPTER   V. 


«WHliam,  I  do  not  quite  understand  thee.  Hast  (  What  l>ad  William  thought,  what  had  Patience 
thee  cause  to  say  ihisr'  ,' said.  cOuld  they  i.ave  Known  that  this  likuig  was. 

•All  I  say,  Patience,  is— keep  .her  out  of  the  ^aiieady"  implanted  in  Anna's  heart  beyond  rtcal ! 
way  of  possible  harm,  of  uncJesirable  friendbhips.  \  Alas  !  that  it.shouid  have  bi;e.n  so  !  Quiet,  child- 
Were  Anna  to  be  drawn  into  a  tikinij  for  Her- i  ish,  timid  as  Anna  outwardly  appeared,  the 
bert  Dare,  I  am  surfr  it  would  not  be  uf^reeabie  to  ;-slrongest  affection  had  I  een  aroused  in  her  heart 
Mr.  Lynn.  He  would  never  consider  the  Dares  |  for  Herbert  Dare — wa>  filling  it  to  its  every  crev- 
a  desirable  family  for  her  to  marry  into. -'        |  ice.     These    apparently  shy,   sensitive   natures, 

'Marry  into  the.  family  of  the  Dares!'  inter-  !  are  sometimes  only  the  more  passionate  and  way- 
rupted  Patience,  hotly.  'Are'  thee  losing  ihy  |  waid  within.  One  evening,  a  few  months  pre- 
senses,  William .''  .     <  viously,  Anna  was   walking  in    Atterly's  Field, 

•Thrse  likings   sometimes  .lead   to  marriage,' [behind  their  house.     Anna  had  been  in  the  habit 

quietly  continued   William.     'Therefore,  I  say,  |  of  wal'king  thr.re— nay,  of  playing  there— since 

keep  her  away  from  all  chance  of  forming  such.  |She  was  a  cnild,  and  she  would  as  soon  have  as- 

Believe  me,  mv  advice  is  good.'  !  sociated  harm  with  their  garden  as  with  that  field. 

,,  ,,     ,    r       ,      ,      I  »  I   J  J  u  ♦'  .,    Farmer  Atterly  kept  his  sheep  in  it,  and  Anna 

M  thmk  I  understand,   concluded  Patience.    M  ) ,     .  ^      •'        '  "^     ■     ' 

'had  run  about  as  long  as  she  could  remember 

;  with  the  little  lambs.     Herbert  Dare  came  up  ac- 

,cidentaliy — the  path  through  it,  leading  along  at 

!  the  back  of  the  houses,  uas  public,  though  not 

;  much  frequented — and  1  e  spoke  to  .Anna.     Anna 

.  knew  him  to  say  'G  lod-day'  when  she  passed  him 

;  in  the  street;  and  she  now  and  tjien  saw  him  at 

(  Mrs.  Ashley's.     Herbert  stayed  talking  with  her 

LOOKiKa  mro  the  saop  windows.  a  few  miuules,  and  then  went  on  his  way.  Some- 

.  ,  -    ,    .  ,  '  how,  from  that  time,  he  and  Anna  encountered 

A  VERT  unpleasant  part  of  the  story  has  now  '        ,      ,       ,,  .  ,  ,    , 

t    1       ,     ,  rr     .  .    ,■  •      each  other  there  pretty  frcquei.tlv;  and  that  was 

to  be  touched  upon.     Unpleasant  things  occur  in    ,     •,,,.,.  yy  ."       ^ 

,  ...         .  .'  .  ,  ,       .        ■     !  how  the  hking  grew.     If  a  qualm  of  conscience 

real  life,  a. id  if  true  pictures  have  to  be  given  oi  <  j  m-      .  ^  .•         .,    ^  ... 

,,       .  '       .  .  ■     ,       i  crossed  MissAnna  at  times  that  it  was  not  quite 

the  world  as  it  exists,  as  it  goes  on  its  round,  day  ,  ,,      ...       /.  i   j    <    j      ,u      * 

'        ,  *  ,         '      •'  ,  the  thing  for  a  joung  lady  to  do,  thus  to  meet  a 

by  day,  the  mention  of  Ihem  cannot  lie  wholly  <        4,  •  .      t.  ■     »i  i.  ..l 

•'       •' '  .  ,  •'  ;  gentleman  m   secret,  she   conveniently  sent  the 

^^^^  '^  '  ;  qualm  away.    That  harm  should  arise  from  it  in 

Ctfitain  v/ords  of  William   Halliburton  to  Pa-  \  any  way.  never  so  much  as  crossed  her  mind  for 

tience  had  run  in  this  fashion:  'Were  Anria  to  be  j  a  moment;  and  to  do  Herbert  Dare  justice,  real 

d,rawn  into  a  liking  for  Herbert  Dare,  I  am  sure  '.harm  was  probably  as  far  frora  his  mind  as  from 

'it  would  not   be   agreeable   to    Mr.  Lynn.     He  '  hers.     He  grew  to  like  her,  almost  as  she  liked 

would  never  consider  the  Dares  a  desirable  family  !  him.     Herbert  Dare  did  not,  in  the  sight  of  Hel- 

for  her  to  marry  into.'    In  thus  speaking,  Wil- ;  stonleigh.  stand  out  a  model  of  all  the  cardinal 

liam  had  striven  to  put  the  case  in  a  polite  sort ;  virtue.^!;  but  he  was  not  all  had.    Anna  believed 

of  form   for  the  ears   of   Patience.     As  to  any  ^  him  all  good— all  honour,  truth,  excellence;  and 

probability  of  ma-rriage  between  one  of  the  Dares  ;  her  heart  had  flashed  out  a  rebuke  to  William 

and  Anna  Lynn,  he  would  scarcely  have  believed  |  when  he  hinted  tjiat  Herbert  might  not  be  a  par 

it  within  the  range  of  possibility.     The  Dares,. ;  agon.     She  only  knew  that  the  very  sound  of  his 

one  and  all,  would  have  considered  Anna  far  be-  ,  footstep  made  her  heart  leap  with  happiness;  she 

neath  them  in  position,  while  the  difference  of  re- ;  only  knew  that  to  her  he  appeared  everything 

ligion  would  on  Anna's  side  be  a  bar.   The  worst ;  that  was  bright  and  fascinating.  Her  great  dread 

that  William  had  contemplated  was  the 'liking' <  was,  lest  their  intimacy  should  become  kno»n, 

he  had  hinted  at.     Fie  cared  for  Anna's  welfare  ;  and  separation  ensue.     That  separation  would  be 

and  comfort  as  4ie  would  have  cared  for  a  §is- !  inevitable,  were   her  father  or   Patience   to  be- 

ter's,  and  he  believed  it  would  not  contribute  to  (  come  cognizant  of  it,  Anna  rightiy  believed. 

her  comfort  that  she  should  become  attached  to  |.     Cunning  little  sophist  that  she  was!  She  would 

Herbert  Dare.   But  for  compromising  Anna— and  ,  fain,  persuade  herself  that  an' innocent  meeting 

he  had  given. his  word  not  to  do  it— he  would  <  out-of-doors  was  justifiable,  where  a  meeting  in- 

have  spoken'out  fully,  that  there  was  a  danger  of  ^  doors   was   not  practicable.     They    had    no  ac- 

this   liking  supervening,  if  she   met   him  as  he;  quaintance  with  the  Dares;   consequently,  Her- 

feared  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  ooing.     Cer-|  bert  could  plead  no  excuse  for  calling  in  upon 

tainly  he  would   not  have  alluded  to  the  remote  I  them— none  at  least  that  would  be  likely  to  stand 

possibility   of   marriage,  the  mention  of  which  ■  patent  with   Patience.     And   so  the  young  ladjr 

had  60  scared  Patience.  ( reconciled  her  conscieoce  in  the   b«*t  wa;  the 


MRS.  HALLIBTTRTOIf  "S  TROUBLBS. 


Bl 


could,  stole  out  as  often  as  she  was  able  to  meet  M  dar«  not  stay  talking  to  Ihee,  Herbert.  Pa- 
him.  and  left  discovery  to  take  care  of  Itself.  i  tience,  she'll   be   liki-,ly  sending   Grace  after  me, 

.  Discovery  came  in  the  shaps  of  William  Hal- ;  finding  me  so  long  away.  But  I  was  obliged  to 
liburton.  It  was  bad  enough;  but  far  less  alarm-  tell  thee  this,  lest  thee  should  be  coming  again, 
ihg  to  Anna  than    it  might  have  been.     Had  her    Fare  thee  well !' 

father  dropped  upon  her,  she  would  have  run  Passing  swiftly  from  him,  Anna  went  on  her 
away'and  fallen  into  the  nearest  ditch,  in  her  way.  Herbert  did  not  choose  to  follow  her  in 
terror  and  consiernation.  the  public  street.     She  went  along,  poor  child, 

Though  guilty  of  certain  trifling  inaccuracies —  with  her  head  down  and  her  eyelashes  glistening, 
such  as  protesting  she  "did  not  care'  for  Herbert  It  was  little  eUe  than  bitter  sorrow  thus  to  part 
Dare — Anna,  in    that   interview   with   William,    with  Heibert  Dare. 

fully  meant  to  keep  the  promise  she  made,  not  to  Patience  was  standing  at  the  door  looking  out 
meet  him.  Promises,  however,  given  under  the  for  her  when  she  came  in  sight  of  home.  Pa-' 
influence  of  terror  or  other  sudden  emotion,  are  tietice  had  given  little  heed  to  w  hat  William  Hal- 
not  always  kept.  Jt  would  probably  prove  so :  libui  ton  said  the  previous  night,  i)r  she  might  not 
with  Anna's.  One  thing  was  indisputable— that  have  sent  Anna  into  Helstonleigh  alone,  in  point 
where  a  mind  could  so  far  forget  its  moral  recti-  of  fact.  Patience  had  thought  Witliam  a  little 
tudo  as  to  practice  deceit  in  one  particular,  as  overfancilul.  But  when,  insiead  of  being  home 
Anna  was  doing,  it  would  not  be  over-scrupulous  at  four  o'clock,  as  she  ought  to  have  been,  the 
to  keep  its  better  promises.  ;  clock  slruck  five,  and  she  had  not  made  her  ap- 

Auna's  thoughts  for  many  a  morning  latterly,  '  pearance.  Patience  began  to  think  she  did  let  her 
when  she  arose,  had  been,  'This  evening  1  shall    have  her  liberty  too  much. 

see  himj'  and  the  prospect  seemed  tp  quicken  her  \  «Now,  where  has  ihee  been  .''  was  the  saluta- 
fingers,  as  it  quickened  her  heart.  But  on  the  :  lion  of  Patience,  delivered  in  a  tone  of  acrimony, 
morning  after  the  discovery,  her  fir.'t  ihought)  *I  met  so  many  people,  Patience.i  Theybta^ed 
was,  '1  must  never  see  him  again  as  I  have  done.  ( to  talk  with  me.' 

How  shall  I  warn  him  not  to  come."  That  he)  Brushing  past  Patience,  conveniently  deaf  to 
would  be  in  the  field  again  that  evening,  unlci,s  her  subsequent  reproofs,  Anna  flew  up  to  hercw.i 
warned,  j^he  knew:  if  William  Halliburton  saw /room.  When  she  came  down  her  father  had 
him  there,  a  quarrel  might  ensue  between  them; , entered,  and  Piiuence  was  pouring  out  the  tea. 
at  any  rate,  an  unpleasant  scene;  Anna  de- f  ivVill  thee  tell  thy  father  where  thee  has 
scended,  feeling  cross  and  petulant,  and  inclined  Jbeen:' 

to  wish  William  had  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  \  The  command  was  delivered  in  Patience's 
sea  before  he  had  found  out  what  he  did  find  out  driest  tone.  Anna,  inwardly  tormented,  out- 
the  previous  evening..  wardly   vexed,   burst  into    tears.     The   Quaker 

'Where  there's  a  will,  there's  a  way,'  it  is  said,  .looked  U;)  in  surpr  se. 
Anna  Lynn  contrived  tbat  day  to  exemplify  \i.  >  Patierce  explained.  Anna  had  left  home  at 
Her  will  was  set  upon  seeing  Herbert  Dare  and  ;  three  o'c  ock  to  execute  a  little  commission:  she 
she  did  see  him:  it  can  scarcely  be  said  by  acci- ;  might  well  havf  been  home  in  three-quarters  of 
dent.  Anna  contrived  to  be  sent  into  the  town  ;an  hour,  and  she  had  only  made  her  appearance 
by  Patience  oh  an  errand,  and  she  contrived  to  ^  now. 

linger  so  long  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mr.  Dare's  ;     'What  kept  thee,  child."  asked  her  father, 
office,  gazing  in  at  the  shops  in  West  Street  (if       'I  only  looked  in  at  a  shop  or  two,'  pleaded 
Patience  had  but  seen  her!)   that   Herbert  Dare    Anna,  through  her  tears.     'There  were  the  prct- 
passed.  tiest  newengravings  in  at  Thomas  Woakam's'  If 

'Anna!'  Patience  had  wanted  me  to  run   both  ways,  she 

'Herbert,   I  have  been  wailing  in  the  hope  of  should  have  said  so.' 
seeing  tfiee,'  she  whispered,  her  manner  timid  as       Notwithstanding  the  little  spice  of  impertinence 
a  fawn,  her  pretty  cheeks  blushing.     'Thee  must    pef  ping  out  in   the   last  sentence,  Samuel   Lynn 
not  come  again  in  the  evening,  for  I  cannot  meet    saw  no  reason  to  correct  Anna.     That  she  could 
^j,gg  I'  be  ever  wrong,  he  scarcely  admitted  to  his  own 

•Whv  so  ?' asked  Herbert.  heart.     'Dry  thy  tears,  child,  and  t;.ke  thy   tea,' 

'William  Halliburton  saw  me  with  theo  last  said  he.  'Patience  wanted  thee,  maybe, Tor  some 
night,  and  he  says  it  is  not  rigtit.  1  had  to  give  household  mailer;  it  can- wait  to  another  oppor- 
him  my  promise  not  to  meet  thee  again,  or  eloe  lunily.  Patience,' he  added,  a«  if  t<»  drown  the 
he  would  have  told  my  father.'  '  '     sound  of  his  words  and  their  remembrance,  'we 

Herbert  cast  a  word  to  William;  not  a  compli-    my  stiirts  in  order.'' 
mentary  one.     'What  business  is  it  of  hit ?' he       'Thy    shirts    in     order.''   repealed    Patience. 
Allied.  ) 'Why  does  thee  uk  that ?' 


38  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

'I  should  not  have  asked  it  without  reason,'  re- ;  troubled  with  thee,'  was  the  answfjr  of  Satiiuel 
turntid  he.  'Will  thee  ptease  give  me  an  an--L)nn;  but  the  tone  of  his  voice  spoke  of  anything 
s^er;'    •  j'rather  than  dissatisfaction.     Why  is  he  sending 

•Therold  shirts  are  as  much  in  order  as  thlnjrsjthee  as  .well  a'*  myself?'  ..  ■ 

begmnif.g  to  wear  ean  be,' replied  Patience. 'Tl7^  » He  told  me  he  thought  it  might  be  beat  that 
new  sriiris  I  eannot  say  much  about  Tney  will  .you  >*hould.show  me  the  markets,  and,  introduce 
not  be  finished  on  thii  side  Midsummer,  unless  me  to  the  skin  njerchants,  as  I  should  probably 
Anna  sits  t<J  them  a  little  closer  than  she  is  doing  ,:  have  to  make  the  journey  alone  in  future,'  re- 
now.'  '  '  plied William.     'I  had  no  idea,  until  the  mastdr 

,' Thy  shirts  will  be  ready  quite  in  time,  father;  '  mentioned  it  now,  that  you  had  ever  made  the 
before  the  old  ones  are  gone  beyond  wearing,  journey  yourself,  Mr.  Lynn;  you  never  told  me.^ 
spoke  up  Anna.  .       '  '>     'There   was   nothing,  that  I  am  aware  of,  to 

'I  don 't  kno.w  that,'  said  Mr.  Lynn.  'Had  they'  call  for  the  information,'  observed  the  Quaker,  in 
been  ready,  child,  I  mif^ht  have  wanted  them  now.  ;  his  usual  dry  manner.  'I  went  there  two  or 
Iaing)inga  jyuiney.'        '  ,; three  times  on  my  own  account  when  I  was  ia 

'Is  it  the  French  journey  thee  has  talked  of;  business  for  myself.  Did  the  master  tell  thee 
once  or  twice  lately  .''imerposed  Patience.  ^when  he  should  expect  us  to  start?' 

•Yes,'  said  Samuel  Lynn.  'The  master  was  J  'Not  precisely.  The  beginning  of  the  week,  I 
speaking  to  nie  about  it  this  afternoon.  We  were  I  think.' 

interrupted,  and  I  did  not  altogether  gather  when  \  'I  have  been  asking  my  father  if  he  cannot  take 
he  wjshes  me  to  start;  but  I  fancy  it  will  be  im-  ^  me,'  put  in  Anna,  in  a  plaintive  tone,  looking  at 
mediately '  '  iWilliam. 

'Oh,  father,  could  thee  not  take  me?'  .    ';     'And  I  have  answered  her,  that  she  may  as  well 

The  intei-rtiption  came  from  Anna.  '  Her  blue|ask  me  to  take  the  Malvern  Hill.*,'  vras  tlie  re- 
eyes  were  glistening,  her  cheeks  wer6  crimson; ;!  joinder  of  Samuel  Lynn.  'I  could  as  likely  take 
a  journey  in  the  interior  of"  France  wore  charms  J  the  one  as  the  oi.her.' 

fOr  her  as  great  as  it  did  for  Cyril  Dare.  All  the/  Likely  or  unlikely,  Samuel  Lynn  would  have 
way  home  from  West  Street,  she  had  been  think- Uaken  her  beyond  ail  doubt—- taken  her  with  a 
ing.bow  she  should  spend  her  miserabie  home /greedy,  sheltering  grasp— had  he  foreseen  the  re- 
days,  d*-barred  of  the  evening  snatches  of  Mr.  ^  suit  of  his  leaving  her,  the  grievous  trouble  tb.at 
Herbert's  charming  society.  Going  to  France  '  was  to  fall  upon  her  head, 
would  be  something.  '?   ■  'Thee  will  drink  a  dish  of  tpa  with  ys  this  eve- 

'I  wish  I  could  take  thee,  child!     But  thee  art<  ning,  William?' 
uware  thee   might  as  well  ask  me  to  lake  the;!     n   ,^33   Patience   who    spoke.     William  hesi- 
Malvern  Hills.*  |!  tated,  but  he  saw  they  would   be  pleased  at  his 

In  her  inward  eonviction,  Aiina  believed  shejdoingso.  and  he  sat  do.v  a..  The  conversation 
migiit.  Before  she  could  oppose  any  ans<vtring,i;  turned  upon  France— upon  Samuel  Lynns  expe- 
but  most  inutile  argument,  Samuel  Lynn's  atten-';  rience  of  it,  and  William's  anticipaiions.  Anna 
tion  was  directed  to  the  road.  Parting  opposite }  lapsed  into  silence  and  abstraction, 
to  his"hcuse,  as  if  they  had  just  walked. together':  In  the  bustle  of  moving,  when.  Samuel  Lynn 
from  the  manufactory,  were  Mr.  Ashley  and '  was  departing  for  the  manufactory^  William,  be- 
William  HalUburton.  The  master  walked  on.  ^  fore  going  hocne  to  his  books,  contrived  to  ob- 
William,  catching  Samuel  Lynns  eye,  came  j  tain  V  word  alone  with  Anna, 
across  and  entered.  S     'Have  you  thought  of  our  compact?' 

•Mr.   Ashley  had   been   telling  William  somej      'Yes,' she  said,   freely   meeting  his   eyes,   in; 
news.    Thoiigh  no  vacillating  nian  in  a  general ;  honest  truth.     '1  saw  him  this  afternoon  in  the 
way,  it  appeared  that  he.  had. again  reconsidered  ,'  street;  I  went  on  purpose  to  try  and  meet  him. 
his  determination   with   regard    to.  despatching!  .He  will  not  come  again.' 

William  to  France.  .  He  had  come.t6u.-»  resolve  ;  'That  is  well.  Mind  and  take  care  of  yourself, 
to  send,  him,  as  well  as  Samuel  liynu.  William  (  Anna,'  he  added,  with  a  smile.  '1  .shall  be  away, 
could  not,help  surmising  that  his  betrayed  6mo-|  a»d  not  aole  to  give  au  eye  to  you,  as  I  freely 
tion  the  previous  night,  his  fears  touching  Mr.  [  confess  it  had  been  my  resoh'e  to  do.' 
'.Ashley's  reason  for  not  sending  him,  may  have!  Anna  shook  her  head.  'He  does  not  come 
had  something  i-o  do  with  that  gentleman's  change;  again,'  she  repeated,  'Thee  may  go  away  be- 
of  mind.  .  •;  litfv'ing  me,  William." 

'Will  you  be  troubled  with  me?'  asked  he  of)      And  Wiiliam  did  go  away  believing  her— went 
Mr.  Lynn,  when  he  bad  imparted  this.  away  to  France  believing  her;  believing  that  the 

'If  sueh  be  the  master's  fiatt  I  caDnot  help  beins  \  uodvsirable  iatimaoj  was  at  an  end. 


MRS,  HALLIBUATOX'fl  TAOUBLIS. 


» 


CffAPTER  VI. 

PATIENCE    COME   TO    GRIEF. 

Im  the  eaHy  part  of  March,  Samijel  Lynn  and 
William  departed  on  llie  French  journey.  And 
the  first  thought  that  occurred  to  Patience  .after- 
wards was  one  that  is-  apt  to  occur  to  many 
thrifty  housekeepers  on  ihe  absence  pi"  the  master 
—that  of  instituting  a  thorough  cleansing  of  the 
house,  from  the  garret  to  the  cellar;  or,  as  Anna 
mischievously  expressed  it,  'turning  the  house  in- 
side out.'  She  knew  Patience  did  not  like' her 
wild  phrases,  and  therefore  she  used  ihem. 

Patience  was  parting  with  Grace— the  servant 
who  had  heen  with  them  so  many  years  Grace 
had  resolved  to  get  married.  In  vain  Patience 
assured^her  that  marriage,  collectively  speaking, 
was  found  to  be  nothing  belter  than  a  bed  of 
thorns.  Grace  would  not  listen.  Other  people 
had  risked  the  thorns  before  her,  and  she  ihoughl 
she  must  try  her  chance  with  the  rest.  Fatietict 
had  no  resource  but  to  fall  in  with  the  decision, 
and  lo  lookout  for  another  servant.  It  appeared 
that  she  could  not  find  one  readily,  at  least;  one 
whom  she  would  venture  to  try.  She  was  over- 
particular; and  while  she  waited  and  looked  out, 
she  engaged  Hester  Dell,  a  humble  member  of 
her  own  persuasion,  to  come  in  temporarily. 
H«;stcr  lived  with  her  aged  mother,  not  far  off, 
chit-fly  supporting  herself  by  doine;  fine  needle- 
work at  her  own,  or  at  the  Friends' houses.  She 
readily  consented  to  take  up  her  abode  with  Pa- 
tience for  a  month  or  so,  to  help  with  the  house- 
work, and  looked  upon  it  as  a  sort  of  holiday. 

•It's  of  no  use  to  begin  the  house  until  Grace 
shall  be  gone,'  observed  Patience  to  Anna 
'She'd  likely  be  scrubbing  the  paper  on  th< 
walls,  instead  of  the  paint,  for  her  head  is  turned 
just  now.' 

•What  fun  if  she  should  !'  ejaculated  Anna. 

•Fun  for  thee,  perhaps,  who  art  ignorant  ol 
cost  and  labour,'  rebuked  Patience.  •I  shall  wai* 
until  Grace  has  departed.  The  day  that  she  goes. 
Hester  comss  in;  and  I  shall  have  ihe  house  be- 
gun the  day  following.' 

'Couldn't  thee  have  it  begun  the  same  day! 
saucily  asked  Anna. 

•Will  thee  attend  to  thy  stitching .'' relurnef) 
Patience,  sharply.  'Thy  father's  wristbauds  will 
not  be  done  th^  belter  for  thy  nonsense.' 

•Shall  I  be  turned  out  of  my  bedroom.''  re- 
sumed Anna. 

•For  a  night,  perchance.  Thee  can  go  into  Ih) 
father's.  But  the  top  of  the  house  will  be  done 
first.' 

•Is  the  roof  to  be  scrubbed  .'*  went  on  Anna.  'I 
don't  know  huw  Hester  will  bold  oa  while  sh' 
does  it.' 


'  'Thee  art  in  one  of  thj:  wilful  hunioyrs  this 
•morning,'  re^jiandcd  Patience.  'Art  thee  going 
I  to  set  tne  at  defiance  now  thy.  father's  back  is 
i  turned .'' 

;•  'Who  said  anything  about  setting  thee  at  de- 
'■  fiance  ?'  asikcd  Anna.     '1  should  like  lo  see  Hester 

at  ihe  roof!* 

•Thee  had  belter  behave  thyself,  Anna,' was 

the  retort  of  Putience."  And  Aima,  in  her  jovous 
■wilfulness,  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 
-;  Grace  deparUd,  and  Hester  came  in:  a  quiet 
/little  body,  of  forty  years,  with  dark  liair  anii  de- 
;!cayed  teeth.  Paiience,  as  good  as  her  word,  was 
!  up  betimeh  Ihe  following  inorningj  and  had  the 
i  hOkU>e  up  betimes,  lo  institute  the. ceremony. 
/  Their  house  contained  Ihf  same  accommodation 
jin^ideasdid  Mrs.  Halliburton's,  with  tins  addi- 
!;  lion — that  the  open  gmret  in  the  Quaker's  had 
i  been  partitioned  off"  into  two  chambers.  Patience 
/  slept  in  one:  Grace  had  occupied  the  other-  The 
\  ihree  bedrooms  on  the  floor  underneath  were 
\  used,  one  by  Mr.  Lynn,  one  by   Anna;  tlie  other 

was  kept  as  a  spare  room,  for  any  chance  visitor; 

Itie  'best  room'  it  was  usually  called.    The  house 

■  belonged  to  Mr.  Lynn.  Formerly,  both  houses 
1  had  belonged  to  him;  but  at  the  time  of  his  loss 

he  had  sold  the  other  to  Mr.  Ashley. 

I     The  ablutions  were  in  full  play.     Hester,  with 

I  a  pail,  and  mop,  and  scrubbing-brush,  and  other 

I  essential   requisites,    was  ensconced    in   the  top 

chambers;    Anna,    ostensibly   at  her   wristband 

stitching  (but "the  work  did  not  get  on  loo  fast), 

was  singing  to  herself,  in  an  ur«ierlone,  in  one  of 

the  parlours,  the  door  safely  shut;  while  Paiience 

was  exercising  a  general  superintendence,  giving 

an   eye  everywhere.     Suddenly   Iherti  ectioed  a 

loud  noise,  as  of  a  fall,  and  a  scream  resounded 

liroughout  the  house.     It  appeared  to  come  ftom 

>  A.hat  they  usually  called  the  bedroom  floor. 
I  Anna  flew  up  the  first  stairs,  and  Hester  Dell  flew 
;!  lown  the  upper  ones.  At  the  foot  of  Ihe  garret 
'  lairs,  her  head  close  against  the  door  of  Anna's 
^  hamber,  lay  Patience  an'l  a  heavy  bed-pole.  In 
^  itlempting  to  carry  the  pole  down  from  her  room, 
;  he  had  somehow  got  it  entangled  with  her  legs, 
'  iiid  had  fallen  heavily. 

{  'Is  the  house  coming  down.''  Anna  was  begin- 
<  ing  lo  say.  But  she  stopped  in  consternation 
/  \  hen  she  saw  Patience.  Hester  atttmpted  to 
)  ,nck  her  up.  , 

':  'The  capnot  raise  oje,' Hester.  Anna,  child, 
,;  thee  ii.ust, not  attempt  lo  touch  me.     1  fear  roy 

\  .eg  is  br ' 

)  Her  voice  died  twaj,  her  eyes  closed,  and  a 
i  ivid    due,  as  of  deaih,  overspread    Jkt  count«- 

>  arice.  Anna,  more   ler.ified    ihan  she  had  ever 

■  .«eii  in  her  life,  flew  round  lo  Mr*.  Hallihuiloiis. 
I     Dobbs,  Irbin  her  kilch«n,»a«r  b«rcoming-»**w 


1 


!M 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TAOUBLBS. 


thft  yonng  fflce  streaming  down  with  tears,  heard  ■ 
the  short  cries  of  alarm' — and  Dobbs  stepped  out.  ; 
•Why,  what  on  earth's  the  matter  do^?'  asked 
she.  "  I 

Anna  laid  hold  of  Dohbs,  apd  clung  to  her; : 
partly  that,  to  do  so,  S'-enifd  some  protection  in  ; 
her  greyi  lertor.  'Oh,  D  bbs,  come  into  Pa-^ 
tietice!'  she  cried.  ■  'I  -think  she's  dying.'  : 

•  The  voice,  rising  to  a  shriek  in  its  uncon- ' 
trolled  eaiotlon,  reached  the  ears  of  Jane.  She  | 
came  forth  from  the  parlour.  Dobbs  was  then  ; 
running  in  to  Samuel  Lynn's,  and  Jane  ran  also,.^ 
CCTuprehending  nothing.  ; 

Patience  was  reviving  when  they  got  in.  All 
her  cry  was,  that  the>  must  not  ::,iove  her.  Onf 
of  her  legs  was  in  some  manner  doubted  undt  i 
her,  and  doubled  over  the  pole.  Jane  felt  a  cer- 
tain conviction  that  it  was  broken. 

♦Who  can  run  the  fastest.''  she  asked.  'Wi 
must  get  Mr.  Parry  here. 

Hester  waited  for  no  further  instructions.  Sht 
caught  up  her  fawn-coloured  shawl  and  her  gre^ 
bonnet,  and  was  off,  putting  them  on  as  she  ran 
Anna,  sobbing  wildly,  turned  ard  hid  her  face  O' 
Jane,  like  one  who  wants  to  be  comforted.  Thf  n 
hor  mood  changing,  she  threw  herself  down  be 
side  Patience,  the  tears  from  her  own  eyes  fall 
ing  on  Pdltence'8  face. 

•Patience,  dear  Patience,  can  thee  forgive  me 
I  have  been  wilful  and  naughty,  but  i  never  meat 
to  cross  thee  really.  I  did  it  only  to  teas,e  thee: 
loved  thee  all  the  while.' 

Patience,  suffering  as  she  was,  drew  down  th 
repuit.nt  face  to  kiss  it  fervently.  '1  know  it 
dear  child;  1  know  thee.  Don't  thee  distress  th) 
self  for  me. ' 

Mr.  Parry  came,  and  Patience  was  lifted  U| 
and  carried  into  the  spare  room.  Her  leg  wh 
broken,  and  badly  broken;  the  surgeon  called  it 
compound  fiactuie. 

So  there  was  an  end  to  the  gfand  scheme  d 
cleansiug  for  a  long  while  to  come !  Patience  la; 
in  sickness  and  pain,  and  Hester  had  to  tnake  hi 
the  first  care.  Anna's  spirits  rev.ved  in  a  day  o; 
two.  Mr.  Parry  said  a  cure  would  be  effected  ii 
time;  that  the  worst  of  the  business  was  the  Ion. 
confinement  for  Patience";  and  Anna  forgot  ht 
dutiful  fit  of  repentance.  Patience  «)OM/rf  be  we  I 
again,  would  be  about  as  before;  and,  as  to  th. 
present  confinement,  Anna  rather  grew  to  loot 
upon  it  as  the  interposition  of  some  good  fair.) 
spirit,  who  must  have  taken  her  own  liberty  un- 
der its  special  protection. 

Whetber  Anna  would  have  succeeded  in  elud 
ing  the  vigilance  of  Patience,  up  cannot  be.  told 
she  certainly  did  that  of  Patience  down.  Anni. 
had  told  Herbert  Dare  thai  he  was  not  to  pay  -. 
vHit  to  AtUrlj'l  field  H*^>  <*'  •»!>««*  *»•'  ^  P*' 


one;  but  Flmbc  rt  Dare  was  about  the  last  persbto 
to  obey  snch  advic-e.     Had    William   Halliburton 
remained  to  be — as  Herbert  termed  it — a  treach- 
erous spy,  there's  no  question  but  Herbert  would 
have  striven  to  set  his  viirilance  at  defiance;  with 
the  absence  of  Wjllinm,  the   field,  both   literally 
and  fiiiiiraiivfly,  was  open  to  him.     In  the  ab- 
sence of  Samuel  Lynn,  it  Was  doubly  open    Her-  . 
bert  Dare  knew  perfectly  well  that  if  the  Quaker 
once  got  the  slightest  inkling  of  his  private  ac- 
quaintance with  Anna,  it  would  be  effectually  put 
a  stop  to.     The  wearing  a  cloak  resembling  Wil- 
liam Halliburton's,  on  his  visits  to  the  fiey,  had 
been  the  result  of  a  bright  idea.     It  had  suddenly 
•courred  to   Mr.  Herbert,  that   if  the  Quaker's 
yn>.  eyes  did  by  mischance  catch  sight  of  the 
•loak,  promenading  some  fine  night  at  the  back 
•f  his  residence,  they  would  accord  it  no  particu- 
ar  notice,  concluding  the  wearer  to  be  William 
Hal  iiburton  taking  moonlight  exercise  at  the  back 
if   his    residence.      Nevertheless,    Herbert  had 
imed  his  visits  so  as  to  make  pretty  sure  that 
Samuel  Lynn  was  beyond  view,  safely  ensconced 
n   Mr.  Ashley's  manufactory;  and  he  had  gener- 
'. Ily  succeeded.    Not  quite  always,  as  the  reader 
undwg. 

Anna  was  of  a  most  persuadable  nature.  In 
efiance  of  her  promise  lo  William,  she  suffered 
I' rhett  Dare  to  persuade  her  agi.in  into  the  old 
v«tem  of  meeting  him.  Guileless  as  a  child, 
lever  giving  thought  to  wrong  or  to  barm — be- 
nnd  the  wrong  and  harm  of  thus  clandestinely 
•ealing  out,  and  that  wrong  she  ccnvtniently  ig- 
nored— she  saw  iiothing  very  grave  in  the  doing 
.  Herbert  could  not  come  in-doors.  Patience 
vould  be  sure  not  to  welcome  him;  and  therefore, 
he  logically  argued  to  her  own  mind,  she  must 
o  out  to  him.  She  had  learnt  to  like  Herbert 
•are  a  great  deal  loo  well  not  to  wish  to  meet 
im,  to  talk  with  him.  Herbert,  on  his  part,  had 
earnt  to  like  her.  An  hour  passed  in  whispering 
o  Anna,  in  mischievously  untying  her  sober  cap, 
nd  letting  the -curls  fall,  in  laying  his  own  hand 
■  jndly  on  the  young  head,  and  telling  her  be 
ared  for  her  beyond  every  earihly  thing,  had 
rown  to  be  one  of  his  most  favourite  recrea- 
lons;  and  Herbert  was  not  one  to  deny  himself 
-ny  recreation  that  he  took  a  fancy  to.  He  in- 
ended  no  harm  to  the  pretty  child;  it  is  po!<sible 
hat,  had  any  one  seriously  pointed  out  to.  him 
he  harm  that  might  arise  to  Anna,  in  the  esti- 
nation  of  Helstonleigh,  should  these  stolen  meet- 
ngs  be  found  out,  Herbert  might  for  oi.ce  hare 
lone  violence  to  his  inclinations,  and  not  per- 
i>t<d  in  them.  Unfortunately — very  unforta- 
lately,  as  it  was  to  turn  out — there  were  none  to 
ive  this  word  of  caution.  Patience  was  ill, 
Viliiam  was  away;  and  nobody  else  knew  any 
tbiag  about  it.    In  poiit  of  faot,  PatMiiet  eould 


MRS,  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES.  » 

not  be  said  to  know  anything,  for  the  warning  of  j  "Hester,  Patience  is  a  fidget.  Thee  muit  ae* 
William  had  not  made  the  impressron  upon  hei(  that.  She'd  like  dik-  ■  lieep  at  my  work  all  day, 
that  it  ought  to  have  done.  Patience's, confidinjcj  all  day,  evening  too,  ..id  never  have  a  breath  of 
nature  was  in  fault:  for  Anna  deliberately  to  /  fresh  air !  She'd  like  ao  to  shut  myself  up  ia 
meet  Herbert  Dare- or  any  other  ♦Herbert'  in  se-|  this  parlour,  as  she  ha&  nOiv  to  be  shut  up  in  h«r 
cret,  she  would  have  deemed  a  simple  impossi-|  room;  never  to  be  in  the  garden  in  the  lovely, 
bility.  In  the' judgment  of  Patience,  it  had  been  I  twilight;  never  to  run  and  look  at  th«  pretty 
nothing  less  than  irredeemable  sin.  |  lumbs  in  the  field;  never  to  go  next  door  and  say 

What  did  Herbert  Dare  promise  to  himself,  in    "How  dost  thee  .'"  to  Jan,e  HaJllburton  !     It'i  a 
thus  leading  Anna  into  this  imprudence  ?    Herbert  <  shame,  Hester  !' 


promised  himself  nothing— beyond   the  passings     'Well,  I  think  it  would  be,  if  it  were-truc,' re- 
gratification  of  the  hour.  Herbert  had  never  been  ispond'-d    Htster,  ;a  simple  woman  in  mind  and 


one  to  give  any  care  to  the  future;  for  himself,  or  /speech,  Who  U'vcd  Anna  nearly  as  well  as  Pa- 
for  anybody  else,  and  he  was  not  likely  to  bf gin  ti)  J  lietice* did.  'i!'.r.  does  thee  noi  think  thee  ard 
do  it  yet  awhile.  As  to  seeking  \nDa  for  his  wife  .  I  .nisiaken,  child  .'  t^ntieijce  teems  anxious  that 
such  a  thought  had  never  crossed  his    mind.      In  l  thee  hhould  go  out.     She  sayi  I  am  to  taie  thee.' 


the  first  place,  at   the.  rate  the    Dares— Herbert?      •  I  dare  say!'  responded   Anna; 'and  leave  her 
and  his  brothers — were  going  on,  a  w*fe  for  any  ^  all   alone!     How   would  »he   come  down  stairs 


of  them  seemed  amongst  the  impossibilities.  Un-^  with  her  broken  leg,  if  any^^ody  UnccUed  at  the 
less,  indeed,  she  made  the  bargain  beforehand,  to  ^  door.'  She's  a  dreadful  fidget,  H-sltr.  She'd 
live  upon  air;  there  was  no  cliance  of  their  ha v- J  like  to  watch  me  as  a  cat  watches  a  nK  u»o.  Look 
ing  anything  elsg  to  keep  her  upon.  '  But,  had  |  at  last  night!  It's  all  on  account  of  these  ihirtl. 
Herbert  been  in  a  posttioh,  pecuniarily  consid-l  She  thinks  I  shan't  gel  them  done.  I  shall  ' 
ered.'to  marry  ten  wives,  Anna  Lynn  would  not  |  'Why,  dear,  1  think  thee  w»ll,'  returned  H«f- 
have  been  one  of  them.  Agreeable  as  it  might )  ter,  casting  her  eyes  on  the  work.  'Theearegct* 
be  to  him  to  linger  with  Anna,  he  considered  her  \  ling  on  with  them.' 

far  beneath  himself;  and  pride,- with  Herbert.  >  'I  am  getting  on  nicely.  I  have  done  al)  tl» 
was  always  in  the  ascendant.  Herbert  had  bt-en  '  stitching,  and  nearly  the  plain  part  of  tlie  bodies; 
introduced  to  Anna  Lynn  at  Mrs.  Ashley's,  and  \  I  shall  soon  be  at  the  gathers.  What  did  she  lay^ 
that  threw  a  son  of  prestige  round  ber;  she  was  -to  thee  last  night.'' 

also  enshrined  in  the  respectaMc  Quaker  body  of  |  »she  said,  "Go  to  the  parlour,  Hester,  and  see 
the  town;  but  for  thcbe  facts  for  being  who  sin- j  v^hethcr  Anna  does  not  want  a  light."  And  I 
.was,  Herbert  might  have  bten  less  scrupulous  in  j  came  and  could  not  fii.d  th^e.  And  then  she  said 
his  mode  of  behaviour  to  her  He  would  not— it j  i,,ee  wast  always  running  into  the  next  door, 
may  be  as  well  to  say  he  dared  not — be  otherwi.se  \  [poubling  them,  a^  i  she  would  not  have  it  done, 
than  considerate  towards  Anna  Lynn;  but,  on  the  /  Thee  came  in  just  at  the  time,  and  she  scolded 
other  hand,  be  would  not  have  de«med  her  worthy  ]  d^^p  • 

to  hecome  his  wife.  On  the  part  of  Samuel  T  'Yes,  she  did,'  resentfully  spoke  Anna.  'I  tell 
Lynn,  he  would  far  rather  have  seen  his  child  in  J  ihee,  Hester,  she's  the  worst  fidget  breathing.  I 
her  coffin-,  than  the  wife  of  Herbert  Dare.  Tht-  i  _;ive  ihee'my  word,  Hester,  that  1  had  not  been 
young  Dares  did  not  bear  a  good  name  in  Hel-;^,nside  the  Halliburtons' door.  1  had  been  in  ihii 
Btonieigh.  j  rarden  and  in  the  field.    1  had  been  cloie  at  work 

In  this  most  uncertain  and  unsatisfactory  sta'e  j  ^^\i  jay » 

of  things,  what  on  eartn-as  Dobbs  had  said  to;  .j^ot  ^^itc  all  day,  dear,'  interrupted  Hester. 
Anna-did  Herbert  want  w:th  her  at  all.'  Far,>  ^j,,^^  ^^  ^^^^j^^  ^^^^  ^p^^^^^^^^^  ^,f  „,^,„  t„  jbe 
far  better  that  he  had  allowed  Anna  to  fall  inj,,^^;]^  ^^  f^^  ,,  ^^^  ^„  ^^ble.  'Thee  had  Ahy 
with  the  sensible  advice  of  William  Halliburlo,  -  ,.^^^^^^  ^^^^1^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^„  .^  ^^^  morainf, 

-•Do  not  meet  him  more.'  It  was  a  sad  vity;  and  '  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^.^^^^^  ^^.^^^  .^  ^^^  afternoon.' 
it  is  very  probable  that  Herbert  Dare  regretted  .:  |      .^^^„^  ^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^  ^^^^  p^^^  ^^  ^h, 
afterwards,  in  the  grievous  misery  it  entailed.  ^  ,,  ^^^^^^^^^  Anna, 'and  I  wanted  some  fresh 
Misery  to  both  of  them;  and  without  positive  il  )  ^_^  ^^^^^  .^      yf^^,^,^  the  crin,e." 

conduct  on  the  part  of  either.  >'       ^        •    ,       .     ,,        ,        .       .      Tctt  j       » 

n      .,       .  ,     ,       .  .J  '       Cr  me,  dear      It's  only  natural.     I.'^TbadDot 

But  that  time  had  not  come  yet,  and  we  are  /       ^'  "'  '  •'    ,  ,.       •    ..    . 

,      ^    t_      .  r  o  If         I     u  ,  <  mv  erran(  8  to  eo  upon,  and  «o  eol  the  air  tiitl 

only  at  the  stage  of  Samuel   Lynn's  absence  an<'    '"' ''"'  ^  .      .   ^.  ..       . 

r>  .-         >   u     I       1  A  ^  ^  *  I.  .  *    .i»     >  A-av.  I'd  like  myself  to  run  in  the  field,  when  roy 

Patience  8  broken  leg.     Anna  had  taken  to  stca  /  -^aj,  »  «  j  >  / 

out  aguio;  and  her  wits  were  at  work  to  concoc  ;  **""'^  was  done. 

a  plausible  plea  for  her  absences  to  Hester  Del,  \  •  'So  would  anybody  else,  except  Patience,'  re- 
thai  no  undesirable  Ules  might  be  carried  to  Pa- r^orted  Anna.  'Wester,  look  Ihee.  When  the 
tienee.  |  aiks  after  me  again,  tbee  but  no  need  to  tell  Ur, 

J 


96  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

should  I  have  run  out.  It  oijly  fidgets  her,  and  ^  had  been  in  it  a  long  while,  had  been  sinking 
8he  is  not  well  enough  to  be  fidgeted.  Thee  tell  |  into  it,  in  fact,  deeper  and  deeper.  He  had. 
her  I  a  in  at  my  sewing.  But  1  ean'l  be  sewing^  managed  to  stave  it  off  hitherto  in  some  way  or 
for  ever,  Hester;  I  must  have  a  few  minutes') other;  but  the  time  to  do  that  much  longer  was 
holiday  from  it  now  and  then.  Patience  might'going  by.  He  was  not  given  to  forethought, 
•haye  cau?e  co  grumble  if  I  ran  away  and  left  it  in  <  it  has  been  jireviously  mentioned;  but  he  could 
the  day.*  .  jnot  conceal    from  himself  that   unpleasantness 

'Well,  dear,  I  think  it  is  only  reasonable,';  would  ensue,  and  that  speedily,  unless  somethipg 
slowly  answered  Hester,  considering  the  matter  could  be  done.  What  was  that  something  to  be  ? 
over.  'I'll  not  tell  her  thee  art  in  the  garden  |  He  did  not  know;  he  could  not  imagine.  His  fa- 
again;for8he  must  be  kept  i/ant}uil,  friend  Parry  \^^^^  protested  that  he  had  not  the  means  to  help 
says.'  <  him;  and  Herbert  believed  that  Mr.  Dare  told  the 

'Showasjustasbadwhen  I  was  a  little  glrl,!^'""^^-    ^°^  *^=^- ^^-  ^^'^  ^"^^  ^^ ^^®  «'°^"- 

Hester,'  concluded  Anna.     'She'd    not  let    ^le  ^ '"^''"'^"^  *°  ^*^*^'«"'-     If  he  had,  it  would  have 

run  in  the  garden  afone  then,  for  fear  I  should  J '''™^  ^°  ^^*  «^'"^'  "^  ^^  ^'  ^'^  ^'"^^P  ^^'^^^     ^is 

eat  the  gooseberries.    But  it  is  not  gooseberry  j'°"''  ^'  ^^  ^^''^'  ^^"^  ^'^'""^^  ^^'^-■ 

'season  now.'  .  •  '     Anthony  passed  the  end  of  the  walk.  Whether 

'All    true    and   reasonable,'    thought   Hester  i  ^®  »^^  ^^^^^^^^  or  not,  certain  it  M'as,  that  he 

j)g]j^  .  -turned  away  from  his  direction.    Herbeat. lifted 

A    J       iu  1   J  .  ■     J  ^        ■        /.  .   ',  his   eyes,  an   angry  light  shininj  in  them.     He 

And  so  the  young  lady  contrived  to  enjoy  a  fair  <    .    ....       &J     &  „    u  i.  ^i  .     *  « 

-u»-»    f  lu     .        Ki  ^  I,  ,.  t^  ^   I.  ,,  Jifted  his  voice  also,  angry,  too. 

share  of  evening  liberty.    IV ot  but  that  she  could  ?  >      &  j» 

have  done  with  more,  had  she  known  how  to  get  \  'Here,  you !  Don't  go  skulking  off  because  you 
it.  And  as  the  ^eka  went  .n,  and  the  cold  <«ce  me  sitting  here.  I  want  you.' 
weather  of  the  early  spring  merged  into  summer  i  Anthony  was  taken  to.  It  Is  more  than  proba- 
days,  into  more  genial  nights,  she  and  Herbert' ble  that  he  vras  skulking  off,  and  that  he  Aod  seen 
Dare  grew  bold  in  their  immunity  from  discov-J;  Herbert,  for  he  did  not  particularly  care  then  to 
ery>  and.  scarcely  an  evening  passed  but  they 'come  in  contact  with  his  brother.  Anthony  was 
might  have  been  ssen,  had  anybody  been  on  the'; in  embarrassment  on  his  own  izore;  was  i:l.at 
watch.-in  the  field  of  Farmer  Atlerly.  Anna  had;  ease  from  more  cause?  than  one;  and  when  the 
got  the  length  of  taking  his  arm  now;  and  there  '  mind  is  troubled,  sharp  words  do  not  tend  to 
they  would  pace  under  cover  of  the  hedge.  Her-  ^soottie  it.  Little  else  than  sharp  words  had  been 
bert  talking,  and  Anna  dreaming  that  she  was  in  |  exchanged  latterly  between  Anthony  and  Her- 
Eden.  /bert  Dare. 

/     It  was  no  temporary  ill-feeling,  cross  to-day, 

^^^  ;  pleased  to-morrow,  which  had  grown  up  between 

J  them;  the  ill-will  had  existed  a  long  while.  Her- 

;;  bert  believed  that  hiii  brother  had  injured  him,  had 

CHAPTER  VII.  ]  v^ilfully  played  him  false,  and  his  heart  bitterly 

_„. „^„v„...'.  .......x.^.n^,  '  presented  it.     That  Anthony  was  in  fault  at  the  be- 

THE    GOVERKEIS  S    EXPXOITIOK.  ;  •' 

•  /ginning,  there  was  no  doubt.  He  had  drawn 
Herbert  Dare  sat  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  j  Herbert  unsuspiciously — unsuspiciously  on  Her- 
April  evening  in'the  garden  of  Pomeranian  Knoll.  |  ben's  part,  you  understand — into  some  mess  with 
He  was  hoisted  on  the  high  back  of  a  garden  J  regard  to  bills.  Anthony  was  fond  of 'bills;' Her- 
bench,  and  balanced  himself  astride  on  it,  the  tip  }  bert,  more  wise  in  that  rei;pect,  had  never  med- 
of  one  toe  resting  on  the  seat,  the  other  foot  died  with  them:  his  opinion  coincided  with  his 
dangling.  The  month  was  drawing  to  its  close,  father's — that  they  were  edged  tools,  which  cut 
and  the  golden  beams  of  the  warm  setting  sun  both  ways.  'Eschew  bills  if  you  want  to  die  upon 
streamed  right  athwart  Herbert's  face.  It  might  jyour  own  bed,'  was  a  saying  of  Mr.  Dare's,  fre- 
be  supposed  that  he  had  seated  himself  there  to  |  quenlly  spoken  for  the  benefit  of  his  sons.  Good 
bask  in  the  soft,  still  air,  in  the  lovely  sunset:  in  |  advice,  no  doubt.  Mr.  Dare,  as  a  lawyer,  ought 
point  of  fact,  he  hardly  knew  whether  the  sun  |  to  know.  Herbert  had  held  by  the  advice;  An- 
was  rising  or  setting — whether  the  evening  wa?  |  thony  never  had;  and  the  time  came  when  An- 
fair  or  foul — so  buried  was  he  in  deep  thought,  |  thony  took  care  that  his  brother  should  not. 
in  perplexing  care.  j     In  a  period  of  deep  embarrassment  for  An- 

The  particular  care  which  was  troubling  Hei-  { thony,  j  •.  .ad  persuaded  Herbert  to  sign  two  bills 
bert  Dare,  -was  one  which  has.  at  some  tim(f|  for  him,  their  aggregate  amount  being  large;  as- 
or  other,  troubled  the  peace  of  a  great  many  of  <  suring  him,  in  the  most  earnest  and  apparently 
w.    It  was  pecuniary  embarrassment.    Herbert  ( truthful  manner^  that  the  money  to  meet  them, 


M118.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


37 


when  due,  was  already  proTided.  Herbert,  in  J —so  far  as  anybody  not  personally  interested  in 
his  good  nature,  fell  into  the  snare.  It  turned!  the  matter  could  be  supposed  to  gather  it— that 
out  not  only  that  the  bills  were  not  met  at  all,  |  Herbert  had  given  oU'eiice  to  the  goTerness  lat- 
but  Anthony  had  so  contrived  it  that  Herbert .  terly,  by  not  going  to  the  school-room  for  what 
sJiould  be  responsible,  not  he.  ^lerbert  re-;  he  called  his  Italian  lessons.  Of  course  he  could 
garded  it  as  a  shameful  piece  of  treachery,  and /not  be  in  two  places  at  onca;  and  if  his  leisure 
he  never  ceased  reproaching  his  brother.  An-^hourafterdinnerwas  spent  in  Atterly'sfield,  orin 
thony,  who  was  of  a  sullen,  morose  temper  by  jgoing  to  Atterly's  field,  it  was  impossible  that  he 
nature,  resented  the  reproach;  and  they  did  not  < could  be  in  the  school-room,  learning  Italian  of 
lead  together  the  most  comfortable  of  lives.  The  ^  the  Italian  governess. 

bills  were  not  settled  yet;  indeed,  they  formed;!  She  came  down  upon  him  full  sail.  The  rao- 
part  of  Herbert's  most  pressing  embarrassments.  j;ment  Herbert  saw  her,  he  remembered  having 
This  was  one  cause  of  the  ill-feeling  between 'given  her  a  half  promise  the  previous  day  to  pay 
them,  and  there  were  others,  of  a  different  na-^, her  a  visit  that  evening.  'Now  for  it!'  .thought 
ture.  Anthony  and  Herbert  Dare  had  never  been  J  he  to  himself, 
cordial  withepch  other,  even  in  childhood.  <     'Why  you  keep  me  waiting  like  this.''  began 

Anthony,  called  to,  advanced.     'Who  wants  to  >  she,  when  she  was  close  to  him. 
skulk  away?' asked  he.    'Are  you  judging  me  by  J.    'Have  I  kept  you  waiting?'  civilly  returned 
yourself?'  \  Herbert.    'I  am  very  sorry.    The  fact  is,  made- 

•I  hope  not,'  returned  Herbert,  in  a  tone  of  the   moiselle,  I  have  a  good  deal  of  worry  upon  me. 
most  withering  contempt  and  scorn.    'Listen  to  ^  and  I'm  fit  for  nobody's  company  but  my  own  to- 
me.   I've  told  you  five  hundred  times  that  I'll  ^"^6^^.    You  might  not  have  thanked  me  for  my 
have  some  settlement,  and  if  you  don't  come  to  J"*'''  ^ad  1  come.' 
it  amicably,  I'll  force  you  to  come  to  it.     Do  you  \     'That  is  my  own  look-out,'  replied  the  govern- 


hear,  you?    I'll  force  you  to  it.' 
•Vry  it,'  retorted    Anthony, 
laugh;  and  he  coolly  walked  aw«y. 


(688.    'When  a  gentleman  makes   a  promise  to 

, .      ,me,  I  expect  him  to  keep  it.     I  go  up  to  the 
•VrT  it.'  retorted    Anthonv,  with  a  mocking/     ,'    ,      '  ,  .      -^   r       •.  t      •»  i     au 

iry    IV,    iciwitcu      u        „,  "5  school-room,  and  I  wait,  I  wait,  I  wait!    Ah,  my 

,  poor  patience,  how  I  wait !     1  have  got  that  copy 
Walked  away,  leaving  Herbert  m  a  towering  >^(.  ,^^^^^^^,3^^  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  n]ie  io  sec. 
rage.     He  felt  inclined  to  follow  him;  to  knock  j  yy^jj    ^^  come?' 

him  down.     Had  Anthony  only  mfit  the  affair  in )'._..  ,,        ,^,             •    r     •,.      wt      i         j 
"""                      .    ,    ,  /       Vc-       .      t.  J  u    '     Herbert  thought  he  was  in  for  it.     He  glanced 
a  nroner  spirit,  it  had  been  different.    Had  he/                 .,•                  *  i      .     »  .u          .      u 
a  i>iuv^i  op  I    ,                                                        /   ^^  jjjg  setting  sun— at  least,  at  the  spot  where 
said: 'Herbert,  I  am  uncommonly  vexed — 1  11  see ;,                           .    j  u         r       *  i    j        i    u  i  _ 
aaiu,   nciucii,  la                      ^  \,    ,    fl-    i   »,   ./-Uhe  setting  sun  had  been,  for  it  had  sunk  below 
what  can  be  done,   or  words  to  that  enect,  nail  {  ,,.,.,                                 .      , 
waai  uau  uc  u  uc,                                          '         <  ihe  horizon,  leaving  only  some  crimson  streaks 
the  stine  on  his  brother  8  mind  would  have  been;.                            ..nrui^uju            rr_- 
uie  auug  uu  ii.»  ui                               .,    ,      .       ^    hn  the  grey  sky,  to  tell  of  whafc  had  been.     Twi- 
removed;  but,  to  taunt  Herbert  with  having  to '             "    •'     .-^                                     ,          .n  j. 
'  "^         •        '                ,.,                    ,        ,   °       Hight  was  rapidly  coming  on,  when  he  would  de- 
pay— as  he  sometimes  did— was  nearly  unbeara- ;    ^  »^     •'  "  ■   t    ,u        

^   ■'  ,  „    ,        ,^  r  A    .1.       I  .  u      part  to   pay  his   usual  evening   visit:  there  was 

ble.     Had  Herbert  been  of  Anthony's  temper,  he   »'    ^.        !^ ''..,,   ^      m  j   .u 

,,  ,  ,    .    .  •.  u        ui  ;no  time,  he  decided,  for  Tasso  and  the  gorern- 

would  have  proved  that  it  was  unbearable.  L„„ 

But  Herbert's  temper  was  roused  now.    It  was , 

the  toss  of  a  die  whether  be  followed  Anthony] 

and  struck  him,  or  whether  he  did  not.     The  die 


was  cast  by  the  appearance  of  the  Signora  Var- 
sini;  and  Anthony,  for  that  evening,  escaped. 

It  was  not  very  gallant  of  Herbert  to  remain 
where  he  was,  in  the  presence  of  the  governess, 
astride  upon  the  garden  bench.  Herbert  was  feel 


I'll  come  another  erening,'  said  he.  'I  have 
an  engagement,  and  I  must  go  out  to  keep  it.' 

A  stony  hardness  settled  on  the  young  lady's 
face.  'What  engagement  ?'  she  imperatively  de- 
manded. 

It  might  be  thought  that  Herbert  would  hare 
been  justified-  in  civilly  declining  to  satisfy  her 


ing  angry  in  no  common  degree,  and  this  may  curiosity.  What  was  it  to  her?  Apparentfy  he 
have  been  his  excuse.  She  came  up,  apparently  deemed  otherwise.  Possibly  he  watf  afraid  of  an 
in  anger  also.  Her  brow^  was  frowning,^hcr  com-   outbreak. 

pressed  mouth  was  drawn  in  to  that  extent  that  'What  engagement!  Oh— I  am  going  to  play 
its  lips  were  hidden.  :  »  Pool  at  billiards  with  Lord  Hawkesley.    He  is 

Not  that  the  governess  could  be  supposed  to    '"  Helstonlcigh  again.' 
occupy  any  position  in  the  mind  or  heart  of  Her-       'And  that  is  wh.it  you  go  for,  erery  evemng— 
bert  Dare,  except  as  governess;  governess  to  his    to  pii.y  biliiardfl  with  Lord  Hawkesley  ?' she r«. 
sisters.    Herbert  would  probably  have  said  so,;*"™^*^.  her  eyes  glistening  omineusly. 
had  you  asked  him.     What  j/i«  might  have  said,!      'Of  course  it  is,  mademoiselle.     With  Hawkes- 
is  a  different  matter.     Sha  looks  angry  enough  to   ley  or  other  fellows.' 
say  anythiDg  juet  now.    The  fact  appeared  to  be  ,    'A  lit, !'  curtly  responded  madciaoisello. 


n^  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

•I  My,' cried  Herbert,  laughing  good-humour-:;  what  it  was  worth— flitted  over  He^ert  Dare's 
odiy,  'do  you  call  that  orthodox  language."  ■        f  face.    'You  ate  very  wise,'  said  he. 

*lt  nothing  to  you  what  1  ogII  it,' she  cried,/  'Take  care  of  yourself,  mon  ami !  C'esttout.' 
clipping  her  words  in  her  vehemence,  as  she  was;!  'Now,  mademoiselle,  what  is  the  matter,  that 
apt  to  do  when  excited.  'It's  not  with  Milord -yo"  should  look  and  speak  in  that  manner.''  h« 
Hawkesley,  it's  not  to  billiards  that  you  go !  1^  asked,  still  in  the  same  light,  good-humoured 
know  it  is  not.'  ^  <  tone,  as  if  he  would  fain  pass  the  affair  away  in 

'Then  I  tell  you  that  I  often  play  at  billiards,' ;  a  joke.  'I'm  sure  I  have  enough  bother  upon  me , 
cried  Herbert.     'On  my  honour  !'  j  without  your  adding  to  it.' 

'May-be,  may-be,' answered  she,  very  rapidly.  ^     'What  is  your  bother?'- 
•But  it  not  to  billiards  that  you  go  every  evening.  \     'Never  mind;  it  would  give  you  no  pleasure  to 
Every  evening !— every  evening  !      Not  an  eve- }  know  it.  It  is  caused  by  Anthony— and  be  hanged 
Ding  now,  but  >ou  go  out,  jou  ^'O  out!     I  bought  j  to  him  !' 

Tasso— do  you  know  that  I  bvugUt  Tasso .'— tfiat  1 1  'Anthony  is  worth  ten  of  you  !'  fiercely  re 
have  bought  it  with  my  money ,  tliat  you  may  have  >  spouded  mademoiselle, 

the  pleasure  of  hearing  me  read  it.  .s  you  said-- j  .finery  one  to  hi,  own  liking.'  carelessly  re 
asyoucali.t?  bhould  I  spend  the  money,  had  Waited  Herbert.  'It's  well  for  me  that  all  the 
I  thought  you  would  not  come   vhen  1  had  got  itj„,>„n  j„„.  „  ♦  .u-  i  j,      ■     ,        .... 

,j  ^        .  ,,  &"••  ^'••<,  world  does  not  think  as  you  do,  mademoiselle.' 

—would  not  caqe  to  hear  it  read  !'  / 

Had  she  been  in  a  more  genial  mood,  Herbert^  Mademoiselle  looked  as  though  «he  would  like 
would  have  told  her  .that  she  was  a  simpleton  forj  *°  ^^^^^^'^-  'So  !'  she  foamed,  drawing  back  her 
spending  her  money  so;  he  would  have  told  her  '''""^'^^s.  ^'P^  5  ''^°^  ^hat  your  turn  is  served,  Bi- 
that  Tasso,  read  in  the  original,  would  have  been  i  ^^^"^  ^^'^"^^  "^^^  j"*^  ^'^  s«"t  *<*  tb«  enfer  ! 
to  him  uninleiligible  as  San^orit.  He  had  a  faint  j  ^^^'^'^■^°'^>  "^on  camarade,  je  te  dis.' 
remembrance  of  saying  to  mademoiaclle  that  he  |  'Garde  your  voice,'  replied  Herbert.  'The 
•houid  like,  to  read  Tasso,  in  answer  to  a  re'hiark  I  ^°*^^  yonder  will  think  it's  thundering.  I  wish 
that  Tasso  was  her  favourite  of  the  Italian  poets:  j  niy.turntcos  served  in  more  ways  than  one.  What 
but  he  had  only  made  the  observation  casually,  Particular  turn  do  you  mean.'  If  it's  the  buy- 
without  seriously  meaning  anything.  And  she  '"^  of  Tasso,  I'll  purchase  it  of  you  at  full 
bad  been  so  foolish  as  lo  go  and  buy  it!       '  '  P^ice. ' 

•Will  you  come  this  evening  and  hear  it  begiin.''  ^®  could  not  help  giving  her  a  little  chaff.  It 
■he  continued,  breaking  the  pause,  and  speaking  ^^^  ^^^'  *'*^  ^''"'^  have  called  it— chaff  Exact- 
rather  more  giaciously.  ''"S  people  fretted  his  generally  easy  temper,  and 

'Upon  my  word  and  honour.  Bianca,  Ican't  to-1  ''^  """  beginning  to  fear  that  she  would  detain 
night,'  be  answered,  feeding  himself,  between  the  *'""  "°^''  "  "^"^  *°"  ^^^^  ^°  '^*  ^""''• 
two^the  engagement  made,  and  the  engagement  ^"^'  °"  ^^^  latter  score  he  was  set  at  rost. 
Bought  to  be  made— somewhat  embanassed.  'I  |  With  a  few  words,  spoken  in  Italian,  she  nodded 
will  come  another  evening;  you  may  depend  upon  i  ^'^''  ^^^^  angrily  at  him,  and  turned  away.  Fierce 
me.'  ^  I  words?  in  spite  of  their  low   tone,  Herbert  was 

•You  say  to  mc  yesterday* that  vou  would  come  \  ^"'"'''  ^"'  ^''^  ''°"'*^  "'^^  ^^^^^  °"e  of  them.      Had 

this  evening;   that  '1  might  depend  upon  you.  r^®  *^^"Sht  them  all,  it  would  have  been  the  same, 

Muchjoucare!'  so  far  as  his  understanding  went.     Excellent  as 

.1.  »  T        ij      *i.  1  ir      A  J  the  Signora  Varsini's  method  of  teaching  Italian 

•But  I  could  not  help  myself.    An  engagement  i  „..„  u„„„  u„       .      ,  ,     .  ^     V 

,j  S     A*     ru-  u-       J  ""ay  have  been,  her  lessons  had  not  as  yet  been 

•rose,  and  I  was  obliged  to  fall  in  with  it.     I  j  ^^ry  efficient  for  Herbert  Dare.  ' 

She  crossed  her  hands  before  her,  and  weat 


was,  indeed.    I'll  hear  Tasso  another  evening. 
,_.,,.,,  .         '  (     -^"»'  «-iwoaou   iicr  nanus  ueiore  ner,  ana  went 

'You  will  not  brerjik  your  paltry  engagement  at    Jn^n   fk„    „.,,i,    .,.        ..  .u   .      . 

VII-     J     .     1  J  *        1   J    I      /-,,        0"^"   the    walk,   taking  the  cross  path  to  the 

billiards  to  keep  your  word  to  a  lady !      C'est !  u„,;^„       -p^^^^^a-        *    •  u.  l        .      . 

,.      ,,  *^  ^  ^        .  house.      Proceeding   straight  up  to  the  school- 

'f,V»-        .1.       .u       K.  .  ,        ..  .,  rr    u  room,  she  met  Cyril  on  the  stairs.      He  had  ap- 

t-.t.snotaltogether  .hat  'replied  Herbfrt,    p.^ently  been  dressing  himself  for  the  evening 

getting  out  of  the  rep,w.-h  in  the  best  manner  he    and  was  going  abroad  to  spend  it.  The  governess 

could.     •!  have  some  business  as  well.'  L.o,io.hf  oh,.,,.*  k^i;j    ev  n  j  l-      •     .,     , 

J  caught  abrupt  hold  of  him,  pulled  him  inside  the 

She  fastened  her  glistening  eyes  full  upon  him.  \  school-room,  and  closed  the  door. 
There  was  an  expression  in  them  which  Herbert  j     «!  say,  mademoiselle,  what's  that  for."  asked 
neither  understood  nor  liked.      -C'est  tr6.s-bi<jp  !'  |  Cyril,  believing,  by  the  fierce  look  of  the  young 
she  slowly  repeated.    •!  know  where  you  are  go-  j  lady,  that  she  was  about  to  take  some  summary 
ing,  and  fet  what !'  j  vengeance  upon  him. 

A  flmU«.-&t  her  awumption  of  knowledge,  and  i     'Cyril !  you  tell  me.    Where  ii  it  that  Herbert 


Alius  HALLIBURTON'S  TROVBLKS. 


29 


goes  to  of  an  evening?  Erery  evening — erery 
evening?' 

Cyril  stared  excessively.  'What  does  it  cop- 
cern  you  to  know  where  he-goes,  mademoiselle?' 
returned  he.  • 

•I  want  to  know  for  my  own  reasons,  and  that's 
enough  for  you.  Monsieur  Cyril.  Where  does  he 
go  ?' 

'Ho  goes  out,'  responded  Cyril. 

The  governess  stamped  her  foot  petulantly.  'I 
could  tell  you  that  he  goes  out.  I  ask  you  wher6 
it  is  that  he  goes  ?' 

•How  should  I  know  ?'  was  Cyril's  answer.  'It's 
not  ray  business.' 

'Don't  you  know  ?'  demanded  mademoiselle. 

'No,  that  I  don't,' heartily  spd^ Cyril.  'Do 
you  suppose  I  watch  him.  niademoisell*  ?  He'd 
pretty  soon  pitch  into  me  if  he  caught  me  at  that 
game.     I  dare  say  he  goes  to  billiards,' 

The  supposition  excited  the  ire  of  the  govern- 
ess. 'He  has  been  telling  you  to  say  so  !'  she  said, 
menace  in  every  lone  of  her  voice,  in  every  ges- 
ture of  her  lifted  hand. 

Cyril  opened  his  eyes  to  their  utmost  width.  He 
could  not  comprehend  why  the  governess  should 
be  asking  him  this,  or  why  Herbert's  movt^ments 
should  concern  her.  'I  know  nothing  at  all  about 
it,'  he  answered;  and,  so  far,  he  spoke  the  truth. 
'I  don't  know  that  Herbert  goes  anywhere  par- 
ticular in  an  evening.  If  he  does,  he  would  not 
tell  me.' 

She  laid  her  hand  heavily  upon  his  shoulder; 
»he  brought  her  free — a  sig^t  to  be  seen  in  fts 
livid  earnestness— nearly  in  contact  with  his. 
'Ecoutez,  mon  ami !'  she  whispered  to  the  amazed 
Cyril.  'If  you  are  going  to  play  this  game  with 
me,  1  will  play  one  upon  you.  Who  wore  the 
cloak  to  that  boucherie,  and  got  the  money  r — 
who  ripped  out  the  ^cossais  side  afterwards, 
leaving  it  all  mangled  and  open  ?  Think  you,  1 
don't  know?  Ah,  ha  !  Monsieur  Cyril,  you  can-  , 
not  play  the  farce  with  me  !'  ; 

Cjril's  face  turned  of  a  ghastly  whiteness,  the 
drops  of  sweat  breaking   out  over  his  forehead.  ! 
•Hush!'  he  cried,  looking  round  in  the  instinct  of! 
terror,  lest  listeners  should  be  at  hand.  I 

•Yes,  you  say  "Hush  !"  she  resumed.  'I  will 
bush  if  you  don't  make  me  speak.  I  bare  bushed 
ever  since.  You  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know, 
and  I'll  hush  always.' 

'Mademoiselle  Varsini !' he  cried,  his  manner 
too  painfully  earnest  for  her  to  doubt  now  that  he 
spoke  the  truth,  'I  declare  that  1  know  nolhingof 
Herbert's  movements.  I  don't  know  wine  he 
goes  or  what  he  does.  When  I  told  you  I  thdught 
he  went  to  billiards,  I  said  what  1  thought  migiil 
b»  th«  cu« .    He  may  go  to  fifty  placet  of  an  eve* 


ning,  for  all  I  can  tell.  Tell  me  what  it  is  you 
want  found  out,  and  I  will  try  and  do  it.' 

Cyril  was  not  one  to  play  the  spy  upon  his  bro- 
ther; in  fact,  as  he  had  just  classically  observed 
to  the  young  lady,  Herbert  would  have  'pitched 
into'  him,  had  he  found  him  attempting  it.  And 
serve  him  right!  But  Cyril  saw  that  he  was  in 
her  power;  and  that  made  all  the  difference.  He 
would  have  tracked  Herbert  to  the  end  of  tho 
earth  at  her  bidding  now. 

But  she  did  not  bid  him.  Quite  the  contrary. 
She  took  her  hand  off  Cyril's  shoulder,  opened 
the  door,  and  said  she  did  not  want  him  any 
longer.  'It  is  no  matter,'  cried  she;  'I  wanted  to 
learn  something  about  Monsieur  Herbert,  for  a 
reason;  but  if  you  do  not  know  it,  let  it  pass.  It 
is  no  matter.' 

•Cyril  departed;  first  of  all  lifting  his  coward 
face.  It  looked  a  coward"'s  then.  'You'll  keep 
counsel,  mademoiselle?' 

'Yes;  when  people  don't  offend  me,  I  don't  of- 
fend them.' 

She  stood  at  the  door  after  he  had  gone  down, 
half  in,  half  out  of  the  room,  apparently  in  deep 
thought.  Pr^?ently  footsteps  were  heard  coming 
up,  and  she  retreated  and  closed  the  door. 

They  were  those  of  Herbert,  He  went  on  to 
his  room,  remained  there  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
came'out  again.  Mademoiselle  had  got  the  door 
ajar  as  he  descended.  Her  quick  eye  detected 
that  he  had  been  giving  a  few  finishing  touches 
to  his  toilettp — brushing  his  hair,  pulling  down 
his  wristbands,  and  various  other  little  odds  and 
ends. 

'And  you  do  that  to  play  at  billiards!'  nodded 
she,  inwardly,  as  she  looked  after  him.  'I'll  see, 
monsieur.' 

Up-stairs  with.a  soft  step  went  she,  to  her  own 
chamber.  She  reached  from  her  box  a  long  and 
loose  dark^reen  cloak,  like  those  worn  by  the 
women  of  France  and  Flanders,  and  a  black  silk 
quilled  bonnet.  It  wks  her  traveling  attire,  and 
she  put  it  on  now.  Th(tb  she  locked  her  chamber 
door  behind  her,  and  slipped  down  into  the  din- 
ing-room, with  as  soft  a  step  as  she  had  gone  up. 

Passing  out  at  the  open  window,  she  kept  161- 
erably  under  cover  of  the  trees,  and  gained  the 
road.  It  was  quite  du?k  then,  but  she  recognized 
Herbert  before  her,  walking  with  a  quick  step. 
Sbe^uton  a  quick  step  also,  keeping  a  conve- 
nient distance  between  herself  and  him.  He  went 
right  througli  the  town,  to  the  London  road,  and 
struck  into  Attcrly's  field.  The  governess  struck 
into  it  after  him. 

There  she  stopped  under  the  hedge  to  recon- 
noitre'. A  fuw  minutes,  and  she  could  distin- 
guish lie  was  joined  by  some  young  giri,  wiiom 
he  met  with  every  tokca  of  respect  and  confi- 


30 


MIUS.  HALLIBURTOITS  TROVBLM. 


dence.    A  strange  cry  went  forth  on  the  evening 
air. 

Herbert  Dare  was  startled.  'What  noise  was 
that?'  he  exclaimed. 

Anna  had  heard  nothing.  'It  must  have  been 
one  of  the  lan^bs  in  the  field,  Herbert.' 

'It  was  more  like  a  human  voice  in  pain,'  ob- 
served Herbert.    But  they  heard  no  more. 

They  began  their  usual  walk — a  few  paces 
backward  aud  forward,  underneath  the  most 
sheltered  part  of  the  hedge,  Anna  taking  his  arm. 
Mademoiselle  could  see,  as  well  as  the  darkness 
allowed  her;  but  she  could  not  hear.  Her  face, 
peeping  out  of  the  shadowy  bonnet,  was  not  un- 
like the  face  of  a  tiger. 

She  crawled  away.  She  had  noticed  as  she 
turned  into  the  field  an  iron  gate  that  led  into  the 
garden,  which  Ihe  hedge  skirted.  She  crept 
round  to  it,  found"  it  locked,  and  mounted  it.  It 
had  spikes  on  the  top,  but  the  signora  would  not 
have  cared  just  then  had  she  found  herself  im- 
paled. She  got  safe  over  it,  and  then  she  con- 
sidered how  to  reach  the  spot  where  they  stood 
without  their  hearing  her. 

V7ould  she  be  baffled?  She  be  baffled!  No. 
She  stooped  down,  unlaced  her  boots,  and  stole 
softly  on  in  her  stockings.  And  there  she  was! 
nearly  as  close  to  them  as  shey  were  to  each 
other. 

Where  bad  the  signora  heard  those  gentle, 
timjd  tc.es  before?  A  lovely  girl,  looking  little 
more  than  a  child,  in  her  modest  Quaker  dress, 
arose  to  her  mind's  eye.  She  had  seen  her  with 
Miss  Ashley.  She— the  signora— knelt  down  on 
the  earth,  the  better  to  catch  what  was  said. 
•  'Listeners  never  hear  any  good  of  themselves.' 
It  is  a  proverb"  too  often  exemplified,  as  the  sig- 
nora could  have  told  that  nighty  Herbert  Dare 
was  accounting  for  his  late  appearance,  which  he 
laid  to  the  charge  of  the  governess.  Jle^gave  a 
description  of  the  interview  she  had  volunteered 
him  in  the  garden  at  home-^more  ludicrous,  per- 
haps, than  true,  but  certajj^y  not  complimentary 
to  the  signora.  Anna  laughed;  and  the  lady  on 
the  other  side  gathered  that  this  was  not  the  first 
time  she  had  formed  a  topic  of  merriment  for 
them.  "Xou  should  have  seen  her  face.  Pour 
plaisir,  as  she  herself  might  have  said. 

She  stayed  the  interview  out.  When  it  was 
over,  and  ilerbert  I>&re  had  departed,  she  put  on 
her  boots  and  mounted  the  gate  again;  IJut  she 
was  not  so  agile  this  time,  and  a  spike  entered 
her  wrist.  Bindiqg  her  handkerchief  rou..d  it,  to 
stop    the    blood,  she    returned    to   Pomeranian 

Knoll. 

Five  hundred  questions  were  showered  upon 
her  when  she  entered  the  drawing-room,  looking 
calm  and  impassable  as  ever.    Not  a  tress  of  her 


elaborate  braids  of  hair  was  out  of  place;  not  a 
fold  awry  in  her  dress.  Much  wonder  had  beea 
excited  by  her  non-appearance  at  tea:  Minny 
had  drummed  a  waltz  on  her  chamber  door,  but 
mademoiselle  would  not  open  it,  and  would  not 
speak. 

'1  cannot  speak  when  I  am  lying  down  with 
those  vilaine  headaches,'  remarked  mademoi- 
selle. 

'Have  you  a  headache,  mademoiselle?' asked 
Mrs.  Dare.  'Will  you  have  a  cup  of  tea  brought 
up?' 

Mademoiselle  declined  the  tea.  She  was  not 
thirsty. 

'What  have  you  done  to  your  wrist,  mademoi- 
selle?' called  out  Herbert,  who  was  stretched  on 
a  sofa,  at  the  far  end  of  the  room. 

'My  wrist?    Oh,  I  scratched  it.' 

'How  did  you  manage  that?' 

•Ah,  bah !  it's  nothing,'  responded  mademoi- 
selle. 


CHAPIER  VIII. 


THE   QTTARRBL. 


;  It  is  a  grievous  thing,  when  ill-feeling  arises 
'between  brothers,  that  that  ill-feeling  should  be 
cherished,  instead  of  being  subdued.  But  such 
was  the  casa  with  Anthony  and  Herbert  Dare. 
By  the  time  that  the  sunny  month  of  May  came 
;in,  matters  had  gro,wn  to  that  pitch  between 
:thera,  that  Mr.  Dare  found  himself  compelled  to 
;  interfere.  It  was  beginning  to  make  things  in 
!  the  house  uncomfortable.  They  would  meet  at 
;  meals,  and  not  only  abstain  from  speaking  to 
each  other,  but  take  every  possible  opportunity 
of  showing  mutual  and  marked  discourtesy.  No 
positive  outbreak  between  them  had  as  yet  taken 
place  in  the  presence  of  the  family;  but  it  was 
only  smouldering,  and  might  be  daily  looked  for. 
;  Mr.  Dare,  so  far  as  the  original  cause  went, 
'blamed  his  eldest  son.  There  was  no  question 
I  that  Anthony  had  been  solely  in  fault.  It  was  a 
dishonorable,  ungenerous,  unmanly  act,  to  draw 
:  his  brother  into  trouble,  and  to  do  it  plausibly 
and  deceitfully.  At  the  present  stage  of  the  af- 
fair, Mr.  Dare  saw  occasion  to  blame  Herbert 
more  than  Anthony.  'It  is  you  who  keep  up  the 
ball,  Herbert,'  he  said  t^ira.  'If  you  would 
suffer  the  matter  to  die  away,  Anthony  would.' 
'Of  course  he  would,'  Herbert  replied.  'He  has 
got  his  turn  served,  and  would  be  glad  that  it 
should  end  there.' 

It  was  in  vain  that  Mr.  Dare  talked  to  them. 
A  dozen  times  did  he  recommead  them  to  'ahake 


MRS.  HALUBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


31 


hfinds  and  make  it  up.'  Neither  appeared  inclined  <  Mr.  Dare,  speaking. for  the  general  benefit,  but 
to  take  the  advice.  Anthony  waa  sullen.  He  |  not  to  uny  one  in  particular, 
would  have  been  content  to  let  the  affair  drop  |  Minny  dropped  the  subject.  'Your  dress  is 
quietly  into  oblivion;  perhaps,  as  Herbert  said, /turned  up,  Adel^de,'  said  she. 
had  been  glad  that  it  should  so  drop;  but,  make  <  Adelaide  looked  languidly  behind  her,  and  a 
the  slightest  move  towards  it,  he  would  not.  ,>  maid,  who  had  followed  them  down-stairs,  ad- 
Herbert  openly  said  that  he'dnoi  shake  hands.  If^  vanced,  and  put  to  rights  tbe  cpfractory  dress;  a 
Anthony  wanted  him  ever  to  shake  hands  with.; handsome  dress  of  pink,  glistening  witli  its  own 
him  again,  let  him  pay  up.  j  richness.    At  that  moment  Anthony  entered  the 

There  lay  the  grievance;  the  'paying  up. '    The ';  hall.    He  had  just  come  to  dinner,  Sind  looked  in 
bills,  not  paid,  were  a  terrible  thorn  in  the  side  of  /  a  very  ill-humour. 
Herbert  Dare.  He  was  responsible,  and  he  knew  ^     'How  late  you'll  be  !'  he  cried, 
not  one  hour  from  another  but  he  might  be  ar-;;     'Not  at  all.  We  shall  get  there  in  an  hour.' 
rested  on  them.    To  soothe  matters  between  his;;     They  swept  out  at  the  door,  Mrs.  Dare  and 
sons,  Mr.  Dare  would  willingly  have  taken  they  Adelaide.     Mr.  Dare  was  about  to  follow  them, 
charge  of  payment  upon  himself,  but  he  had  posi-l^hen  a  sudden  thought  appeared  to  strike  him,, 
tively  not  the  "money  to  do  it  with.     In  point  of ;  and  he  turned  back  and  addressed  Anthony, 
fact,  Mr.   Dare  was  growing  seriously  embar- •;     'You  young  men  take  care  that  you  don't  get 
rassed  on  his  own  score.     He  had  had  a  great  j  quarrelling  with  each  other.    Do  you  hear,  An- 
deal  of  trouble  with  his  sons,  with  Anthony  inji-hony?' 

particular,  and  he  had  grown  sick  and  tired  ol  >  'I  hear,'  ungraciously  replied  Anthony,  not 
helping  them  out  of  pecuniary  difllculties.  Still,  |  turning  round  to  speak,  but  conlinuin?:  his  way 
he  would  have  relieved  Herbert  of  this  one  night- 1  up-stairs  to  his  dressing-room.  He  pro.jably  re- 
mare,  had  it  been  in  his  power.  Herbert  had  I  yarded  the  injunction  with  slighting  contempt, 
been  deluded  into  it,  without  any  benefit  to  him-  /  '"r  it  was  too  much  in  Anthony  Dare's  nature  so 
self;  therefore  Mr.  Dare's  will  was  good,  could'j 'o  regard  all  advice,  of  whatever  kind.  Never- 
he  have  managed  it,  to  help  him  out.  He  told  '  iheless  it  had  been  well.that  he  had  paid  heed  to 
Herbert  that  he  would  s  e  what  he  could  do  aftei  ;  t-  It  had  been  well  that  that  last  word  tohisfa- 
a  while. 

It  was  an  intensely  hot  day;  far  hotter  than  is; 


her  had  beSn  one  of  affevtion  ! 
The  dinner  was  served.    Anthony,  in  tWb  ab- 


eustoraary  at  tbe  eeason;  and  the  af tern v>on  gun  ? -"cnte  of  Mr.  and   -Mrs.   Dare,  taking  the  head. 


streamed   full   on   the   windows   of  Pomeranian  ', 


t\o8a,  with  a  show  of  great  parade  and  ceremony, 
issumed  the  seat  opposite  to  him,  and  said  she 
^hould  be  mistress.  Minny  responded  that  Rosa 
^as  not  going  to  be  miitrees  over  her,  and  the 
;overnes3  desired  Miss  Rosa  not  to  talk  so  loud. 

the  dignity 


Mrs.   Dare  had  al  !;  itathcr  derogatory  checks,  these,  to 
',  and  her  daughter^ ;;  'f  a'mistress.' 


Knoll,  suggesting  thoughts  of  July,  instead  o 

May.     A  gey  party — at  any  rate,  a  party  dressec  I 

in  gay  tttire — were  crossing  the  hall  to  enter  a  j 

carriage  that  waited  at  the  door.     Mr.  Dare,,' 

Mrs.   Dare,  and  Adelaide 

ways  been  given  to  gay  attire 

had  caught  the  taste  from  her.    They  were  going  <      Herbert  was  not  at  table.    Irregular  as  the 

to  dine  at  a  friend's  house,  a  few  miles'  dislanc*  j  .oung  Dares  were  in  many  of  their  habits,  tlley 

from  Helstonleigh.     Tf.c  invitation  was  for  seven  <  vere   generally  home  for  dinner.     Minny  won- 

o'clock.  It  was  now  striking  six,  the  dinner-hour  /  lered  aloud  where  Herbert  was.  Anthony  replied 

at  Mr.  Dare's.  j  .hat  he  was  'skulking.' 

Minny,  lookinc:  half  melted,  haii  perched  her-  \     'Skulking  ."  echoed  Minny. 
self  upon  the  end  of  the  balustrades  to  watch  tbt  {     'Yes,  skulking,'  angrily  repeated  Anthony.  He 
departure.  •  <•  quitted  the  office  at  three  o'clock,  and  ha«  never 

•You'll  fall,  child,'  said  Mr.  Dare.  /  "cen  near  it  sir.ce.  And  the  governor  left  alfour!' 

Minny  laughed,  and  said  there  was  no  danger  \  ''C  added,  in  a  tone  that  seemed  to  say  he  consid- 
of  her  falling.  '  f  red  that  also  a  f,r  evancc. 

Are  we  to  have  any  itra  wherries  for  dinner,'^     'Where  did  Herbert  go  to.'' asked  Rosa, 
mamma  r'  asked  Minny. 

'Tou  will  have  what  I  have  thought  proper  to 
order,'  replied  Mrs.  Dare,  in  rather  a  sharp  tone.  | 
She  was  feeling  hot,  and  cross.     Something  had  ' 
put^r  out  while  dressing.  I 

'I  think  you  might  wait  for  strawberries  until  < 
they  are  ripe  in  our  own  garden;  not  buy  them  io 


'I  don't  know,' responded  Anthony.  •!  only 
ifnow  that  I  had  a  double  share  of  work  to  do.' 

Anthony  Dare  was  no  friend  to  work.  And  the 
laving  had  to  do  a  little  more  tlian  be  would 
lave  done,  had  i^Icrltert  remained  a'  his  post,  bad 
isfgravated  his  tettipor  considerably. 

'Why  should  Monsieur  Herbert  go  away  and 


the  ihopt  without  any  regard  to  cost, 'interposed  I  leave  you  bis  work  to  do.''  inquired  t.'^e  gover. 


33 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


ness,  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  plate  to  An- j  screamed  out  with  laughter  at  his  had  French, 
thony.  ^"'J  mademoiselle  smiled.    'You  get  on  in  French 

'I  shall  take  care  to  ask  him  why,'  returned  ;  like  you  do  in  Italian,  Monsieur  Herbert,' cried 
Anthony.  ;  she.    And  that  is  what  you  call — backwai-d.' 

•It  is  not  fair  that  he  should, ^ eon tiaued  made- i  Herbert  laughed  good-humouredly.  He  did 
moiselie.  'I'd  not  have  done  it  for  him,  Monsieur  'i  not  know  wha't  particular  mistake  he  had  made; 
Anthony.'      •      ;  Uruth  to  say,  he  did  not  care.    They  withdrew, 

<Neith€i-  should  I,  had  I  not  been  obliged., 'said  /  and  he  rang  the  bell  for  his  dinner.' 
Anthony,  not  in  the  least  relaxing  fcom  his  ill-;:     «Mind,  Herbert,'  cried  Minny,  putting  in  her 
humour,  either  of  looks  or  tone.    'It  was  work  ■'  head  again  at  the  door,  'papa  said  you  were  not 
that  had  to  be  done  before  post-time,  apd  one  of  ^  to  quarrel.' 

our  clerks  is  away  on  business  to-day.'  \     Better,  perhaps,  that  she  had  not  said  it !  Who 

.    The  dinner  proceeded  to  its  ciose.     Joseph  ^  can  tell  ? 

hesitated,  unwilling  to  remove  the  cloth.  'Is  iti  The  brothers  remained  alone.  Anthony  sullen, 
to  be  left  on  fo'r  Mr.  Herbert?' he  asked.  ^  and,  as  yet,  silent.  He  appeared  to  have  emptied 

1  'No  !' imperiously  answered  Antimony.  -If  he  J  the  port  wine  decanter,  and*  to  be  beginning  at 
cannot  come  in  for  dinner,  dinner  shall  n6t  be  /  the  sherry  !  Herbert  strolled  past  him;  supreme 
kept  for  him.'  \  indifference  in  his  manner — some  migl;t  have  said 

•Cook  fs  keeping  the  things  hot,  sir.'  J  contempt— and  stood  just  outride  the   window, 

•Then  teil  her  to  save  herself  the  trouble'.'   '      |  whistjing. 

So  tho  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  dessert  put/  You  have  not  forgotten  that  this  dining-room 
on.  To  Minny 's  inexpressible  disappointment  it  j  window  opened  to  the  ground.  The  apartment 
turned  out  that  there  were  no  strawberries.  This  <  was  long  and  somewhat  nai-row,  the  window 
put.  /i«r  in  an  ill-humour,  and  she  quitted  the  table  <  ii,rge  and  high,  and  opening  in  the  middle,  after 
a.nd  the  room,  declaring  she  would  not  touch  an_>  ^  ;,|ie  manner  of  a  French  one.  The  door  was  at 
thing  else.  Mademoiselle  V'^arsini  called  hei  /  nc  end  of  the  room;  the  window  at  the  other, 
back,  and. ordered  her  to  her  ssat:  she  would  not ;!  Anthony  was  in  too  quarrelsome  a  ruocd  to  re- 
pcrmit  80  great  a  breach  of  di>ripp!ine.  Cyti  >  ;ia in  silent  lonsc.  He  began  the  skirmish  by  de- 
and  George,  who  vyere  not  under  the  control  oi  '  ..anding  what  Herbert  meant  by  .bsenting  him- 
mide'moiselte,  gulped  down  a  glass  of  wine,  am.  >  elf  from  the  office  for  the  afternoon,  and  where 
hastened  out  to  keep  an' engagement.  It  was  ti  >  ic  had  been.  His  resentful  tone,  his  authorita- 
very  innocent  one;  a  great  match  at  cricket  hao  /  tive  words,  not  being  calculated  to  wjn  any  very 
been  organized  for  the  cvt.'ning,  by  some  of  Ih'  ^,  civil  answer. 

old  coilege  boys;  and  Cyril  and  George  wer<  ^  They  did  not  win  one  from  Herbert.  His  tone 
amongst  the  players.  It  has  never  been  men-;;  .v as  resentful,  too;  his  words,  were -coolly  aggra- 
tioned  that  Mr.  Ashley,  in  his  strict  sense  of  jus  ■>  vating.  Anthony  was  not  his  master;  when  h© 
tice,  had  allowed  to  Cyr.il  the  privilege  of  spen('-  <  wyg,  he  Joight,  perhaps,  answer  him.  Such  WM 
ing  bis  evenings  at  home,  five  nights  in  the  week,  ^  iheir  purport, 
as  ho  did  to  William  Halliburton.  /     A  hot  interchange  of  words  ensued.    Nothing 

The  rest  remained  at  table.  Minny.per  force:;:  more.  Anthony  remained  at  the  table;  Herber^t, 
Rgsa,  to  eat  an  unlimited  quantity  of  oranges;^  half  in,  half  out  at  the  window,  leaning  against 
Mademoiselle  Varsini,  because  it  was  the  custom  \  its  frame.  When  Joseph  returned  to  put  things 
to  remain  But  mademoiselle  soon  rose  and  ^  in  readiness  for  Herbert's  dinner,  they  had  sub- 
v^itbdrew  with  her  pupils;  Anthony  was  not  j  sided  into  quietness.  It  was  but  a  lull  in  the 
showing  himself  to  be   a  particularly  sociable '  storm 


companion 


He  had  not  touched  the  des.scrt:  but  I 


seemed  to  be  drinking  a  good  deal  of  wine. 


Joseph  placed  the  dessert  nearer  Anthony's 

end  of  the   table,  and   laid  his  cloth  across  the 

"  .   r      ;^     ^  .V,  ™    ti„  K„  .^1>ther    end.      Herbert    came    inside    the   room. 

A<»theY  were  going  out  of  the  room,  Herbert       '  .  t        u  i. 

AS  inej  wci    b      &  .....      S 'What  a  time  you  are  With  the  dinner,  Joseph  !* 

cried  he.  'One  would  think  it  was  being  cooked.' 

'Cook's  warming  it,  sir.' 

'Warming  it!' echoed  Herbert.  'Why  couldn't 

she  have  kept  it  warm  ?    She  might  be  sure- 1 

^should  be  home  to  dinner.' 

She  was  keeping  it  warm,  sir,  but^ifJKn- 


bust-led  in.  'Now,  then,  take  care!'  cried  he: 
for  iVlinny,  paying  little  attention  to  her  way,  had 
gone  full  butt  at  him. 

'Oh!  Herbert,  can't  you  see?'  cried  she,  dole- 
fully, rubbing  her  head.  'What  made  you  so 
late  ?    The  dinner's  gone  away.'  ^ 

«It  can  be  brought  in  agahi,'  replied  Herbert, > 


carelessly..  'Comme  il  est  chaud !'  n 'est-ce  pas,  Uhony  ordered  it  to  be  put  away.' 
mademoiselle  ?'        '  T  NoW,  the  man  had  really  no  intention  of  mak- 

This  last  was  addressed  to  thfe  governess.  Rosa  i-nr  mischief  when  he  said  this:   that  it  might 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


33 


crossed  his  mind.  lie  M'as  onl}-  anxious  that  he 
and  his  fellow-servant,  the  cook,  should  stand 
free  of  blame;  for  the  young  Dares,  when  dis- 
pleased with  the  servants,  were  not  in  the  habit 
of  sparing  them.  Herbert  turned  to  Anthony. 
.'  'What  business  have  you  to  interfere  with  my 
i  dinner?  Or  with  anything  else  that  concerns 
me ':'  * 

'I  choose  to  make  it  my  business,'  insolently 
retorted  Anthony. 

At  this  juncture  Joseph  left  the  room.  He  had 
finished  laying  the  cloth,  and  had  no  cause  to 
stop  in  it.  Better  perhaps  that  he  had  stopped  ! 
Surely  they  would  not  have  proceeded  to  extrem- 
ities, the  brothers,  before  their  servant!  In  a 
short  while  sounds,  as  if  both  were  in  a  terrible 
state  of  fury,  resounded  through  the  house  from 
the  dining-room.  The  sounds  did  not  reach  the 
kitchen,  which  was  partially  detached  frfm  the 
house;  but  the  young  ladies  heard  them,  and  came 
running  out  of  the  drawing-room. 

The  governess  was  in  the  school-room.  The 
noise  penetrated  even  there.  She  also  came 
forth,  and  saw  her  two  pupils  extended  over  the 
balustrades,  listening.  At  any  other  time  made- 
moiselle would  have  reproved  them:  now  she 
crept  down  and  leaned  over  in  company. 

•What  can  be  the  matter.''  whispered  she. 

'Papa  told  them  not  to  quarrel !'  was  all  the 
answer,  uttered  by  Minny. 

It  was  a  terrible  quarrel — there  was  little 
doubt  of  that;  no  child's  play.  Passionate  bursts 
of  fury  rose  incessantly,  now  from  one,  now 
from  the  other,  now  from  both.  Hot  recrimina- 
tion; words  that  were  not  fitted  for  unaccus- 
tomed ears — or  for  any  ears,  for  the  matter  of 
that — rose  high  and  loud.  The  governess  turned  ! 
pale,  and  Minny  burst  into  tears.  I 

•Somebody  ought  to  go  into  the  room,'  said  ' 
Kosa.     'Minny,  you  go  !    Tell  them  to  be  quiet.' | 

'1  am  afraid,' replied  Minny.  ! 

'So  am  I.'  ' 

A  fearful  sound:  an  explosion  louder  than  all 
the  rest.  A  noi<>e  as  if  some  heavy  weight  had 
been  thrown  down.  Had  it  come  to  blows? 
Minny  shrieked  aloud,  and  at  the  same  moment 
Joseph  was  seen  coming  along  with  a  tray,  and 
Herbert's  hot  dinner  upon  it. 

His  presence  seemed  to  impart  a  sense  of 
courage,  and  Rosa  and  Minny  flew  down,  fol- 
lowed by  the  govertifss.  Herbert  had  been 
knocked  down  by  Anthony.  He  was  galhennu 
himself  up  when  Joseph  opened  the  door.  Gath- 
criffg  him«rlf  up  in  a  tempest  of  passion,  his 
while  face  one  living  fury,  as  he  caught  hold  of 
a  knife  from  the  table  and  rushed  upon  Anthony. 

But  Joseph  wai  too  quick  for  him.     Tha  tnar^ 


cause  ill-blood  between  the  brothers,  never  j  dashed  his  tray  on  the  table,  seized  hold  of  Her- 
bert, and  turned  the  uplifted  knife  downwards. 
'For  heaven's  sake,  sir,  recollect  yourself!'  said 
he. 

Recollect  himself  t'.ien.'  No.  Persons,  who 
put  themselves  into  that  mad  state  of  passion, 
cannot  •recollect'  themselves.  Joseph  kept  fast 
his  hold,  and  the  dining-room  became  alive  with 
shrieks — with  sobbing  tears. 

They  proceeded  from  Rosa  and  Minny.  They 
pulled  their  brothers  by  the  coats,  they  implored, 
they  entreated.  The  women  servants  came  fly- 
ing from  the  kitchen,  and  the  Italian  governest 
asked  the  two  gentlemen  in  French  whether  they 
were  not  ashamed  of  themselves. 

Perhaps  they  were.  At  any  rate,  the  quarrel 
was,  for  the  time,  put  a  stop  to.  Herbert  flung 
the  knife  upon  the  table,  and  turned  his  white 
face,  savage  still,  upon  his  brother. 

'Take  care  of  yourself,  though  !'  cried  he,  in  a 
marked  tone:  •I  swear  you  shall  have  it,  yet.' 

They  pulled  Anthony  out  of  the  room,  Rosa 
and  Minny;  or  it  is  dilTicult  to  say  what  rejoinder 
he  might  have  made,  or  how  violently  the  quar* 
rel  might  have  been  renewed.  It  was  certain 
ihat  he  had  taken  more  wine  than  was  good  for 
him;  and  that,  generally  speaking,  did  not  im- 
prove the  temper  of  Anthony  Dare.  Mademoi- 
selle Varsini  walked  by  his  side,  talking  volubly 
in  French.  Whether  she  was  sympathizing  or 
scolding,  Anthony  did  not  know.  Not  particu* 
iarly  bright  at  understanding  French  at  the  best 
of  times,  even  when  spoken  slowly,  he  could  not, 
in  his  present  excitement,  catch  the  meaning  of  a 
single  word,  filtering  the  drawing-room,  be 
threw  himself  upon  the  sofa,  intending  to  smooth 
down  his  ruffled  plumage  by  taking  a  nap. 

Herbert  meanwhile  had  remained  in  the  dining- 
room,  smoothing  down  liis  ruffled  plumage.  Jo- 
seph and  the  cook  were  bending  over  the  dtbrii 
on  the  carpet.  When  Joseph  dashed  down  hit 
tray  on  the  table,  the  dish  of  potaloei  bad 
bounded  off;  thereby,  both  dish  and  potatoes 
coming  to  grief.  Herbert  sat  down  and  made  a 
good  dinner.  His  was  not  a  sullen  temper;  and, 
unlike  Anthony,  the  afl'air  once  over,  he  wai  looa 
himself  again.  Should  they  come  in  contact 
again  directly,  there  was  no  telling  how  it  would 
<;;id,  or  what  might  ensue.  His  dinner  over,  be 
went  by-and-by  to  the  drawing-room.  Joseph  had 
Just  entered,  and  was  arousing  Anthony  from  the 
>*le<;p  he  had  dropped  into. 

'One  of  the  waiters  from  the  Star-and-Garter 
has  come,  sir.  Ho  soysi  Lord  Hawkealey  has  sent 
nim  to  say  that  the  gentlemen  are  waiting  for 
you.' 

•I  can't  go,  tell  him,'  responded  Anthony, 
^■peaking  as  bo  looked,  thoroughly  out  of  sorti. 
I  am  not  goiog  out  to  Qight.     U^fv!    Jo*rph  '' 


H«W!     J 


34 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


for  the  man   was  turning  away  wilh  the  mes- 1  the  dining-room  window,  Joseph.    1  can't  think 
sage.  ;  how  you  could  have  been  so  stupid  last  night.' 

'Sir?'  '      'Sir,  I  assure   you  1  left  it  undone,  as  usual,' 

'Take  these,  and  bring  me  my  slippers.'  ;  replied  Joseph.     'It  must  have  been  master  who  ■ 

'These' were  his  boots,  which  he,  not  very  po- ;  fastened  it.* 
litely,  kicked  off  in  the  ladies' presence,  and  *ent ,'     'Well,  take  care  that   it  does  not  occur,' said 
flying  after  Joseph.     Tiie   man  stooped  to  pick  '  Herbert,     'I  expect  to  be   in  between   ten  and 
them  up,  and  was  carrying  them  away.  ;  eleven;  but  I  may  be  later,  and  I  don't  want  to 

•Here  l^what  a  hurry  you  are  in  !^  began  An-  '""g  JO"  "P  again. '  ' 
thony  again.  'Take  lights  up  to  my  chamber,  5  Herbert  went  swiftly  down  the  stairs  and  out, 
and  the  brandy,  and  some  cold  water.  I  shall 'choosing  his  egress  by  the  way,  as  it  appeared, 
make  myself  comfortable  there  for  the  night. 'that  he  intended  to  enter— the  dining-room  win- 
This  room's  unbearable,  with  its  present  com- 'dow.  Joseph  proceeded  to  Anthony 's  chamber; 
pany.   •  "  ;  and  the  governess  returned  to  her  frightened  pu- 

This  last  was  a  shaft  levelled  at  Herbert.     He  \  P''s  in  the  drawing-room, 
did  not  retort,  for  a  wonder.     In.  fact,  Anthony  -      'A  la  bonne  heure  !'  she  said  to  them.    «Mon- 
afforded.httic  time  for  it.    Before  the  words  had  Jsie"""  Herbert  is  gone  out,  and  I  beard  him  say  to 
well  left  his  lips,  he  had  quitted  the  room.     Her-  /  Joseph  that  he  was  gone  for  the  evening.' 
bert  began  to  whistle;  its  very  tone  an  insolent;!     'Then  it's  all  safe!'  cried   Minny.    And  She 
one.  /  began  cancing  round   the  room  in  her  gladness* 

It  appeared  nearly  certain  that  the  unp1eas3nt-|  'Mademoiselle,  how  pale  you  look.' 
ness  was  not  yet  over;  and  Rosa  audibly  wished  j      Mademoiselle  had  sat  down  in  her  place  before 
her  papa  was  at  home.    Joseph  carried  to  An-  \  the  tea-tray,  and  was  leaning  her  cheek  upon  her 
thony's  room  what  he  require(},  and  then  brought' hand.      She    was    certainly    looking    unusually 
the  tea  to  the  drawing-room.     Herbert  said  helpaie. 

should  take  tea  with  them.  It  was  rather  un- 1  'Enough  to  make  me,'  she  said,  in  answer  to 
usual  for  him  to  do  so:  it  was  very  unusual  for  J  Minny.  'If  there  were  to  be  this  disturbance 
Anthony  not  to  go  out.  Their  si»ters  felt  sure  often  in  the  house,  I  would  not  stop  in  it  for  dou- 
that  they  were  only  staying  in  to  renew  hostili-  \  bje  my  apjioinUmnl.  It  has  giTcn  me  one  of  those 
ties;  and  again  R,osa  almost  passionately  v/ished  \vilaine.  headaches,  and  I  think  i  shall  go  to  bed. 
for  the  presence  of  her  father.  \  You  will  not  be  afraid  to  stay  up  alone,  mesdem- 

It  was  dusk  by  the  time  tea  was  over.    Herbert  J  oiselles?' 
rose  to  leave  the  room.     'Where  are  you  going?'       'There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of  now  j' promptly 
cried  out  mademoiselle,  sharply,  after  him.  answered  Rosa,  who  had  far  rather  be  without 

'That's  my  business,' he  replied.notintoocon-   her  governess's  company  than  with  it.    'Don't 

ciliatorya  tone.     Perhaps  he  took  the  question  j  «'*  "P  ^o^"  "^' "'^^^'"°'S®'''^-' 

to  proceed  from  one  of  his  sisters,  for  he  was  out-  \     'Then  I  will  go   at  once,'  said  mademoiselle. 

side  the  door  when  it  reached  him.  And  she  wished  them  good  night,  and  retired  to 

■'He  is  going  into  Anthony 's  room,'  cried  Rosa,  I  ^'^'^  c^^a'^'^er. 
turning  very  pale,  as   they  heard   him  run   up;- 
stairs.     'Oh,  mademoiselle,  what  can  be  done  ?^ 
I  think  I'll  call  Joseph.'  ;  *** 

•Hush!'  cried  mademoiselle.     'Wait  you  still > 
here.    I  will  go  and  see.*  ;  CHAPTER  IX. 

She  stole  out  of  the  room  and  up  the  stairs,  > 
intending  to  reconnoitre.    But  she  had  no  time.  :■  akna  ltnn's  dilemma. 

Herbert  was  coming  down  again,  and  she  could  > 


only  Blip  inside  the  school-room  door,  and  peA)  '>     ^^  ^^^  ^  ^^'''^^  ^^*'^^"°-     ^"^  °^  *^°'^  ^"°»* 

^ gnats  hum  in  the  air,  and  the  trees  are  at  rest. 


out.     He   had   evidently   been   up  stairs  for  his  f'^''' ^''^"'"^' *^^^  ^^'^ '''"'^^''"^'^""S'"''^''®" 

cloak,  for  he  was  putting  it  on  as  he  descended.  >  a.,      ,      .     ,  ,         •  ,    v    .    .i. 

<  Ine  (lay  had  been  intensely  hot;  the  evening  was 

'The  cloak  on  a  hot  night  like  this! 'said  mad-  little  less  so,  and  Ann%  Lynn  leaned  over  the 
emoiselh,  mentally-    'He  must  want  to  disguise  J  gate  of  their  garden,  striving  to   catch  what  of 

""^®    ■  ^freshness  there  might  be   in  the  coming  night. 

She  stopped  to  listen.  Joseph  hnd  come  up  the  ;  The  garish  day  was  fading  into  moonlight^the 
stairs,  bringing  somell.ing  to  Anthony,  and  Her- ^distant  Malvern  Hills  grew  fainter  and  fainter 
bert  arrested  him,  speaking  in  a  low  tone.  ( on  the  view;  the  little  lambs  in  the  field— getting 

•Don't  l«t  there  be  any  mistake  to-night  about  ^gre^t  lambs  now,  some  of^ them— had  long  lain 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


S5 


down  to  lest;  and  the  Thursday  eveninc;  bells  ;  bell,  a  bell  that  boomed  out  over  the  city  every 
came  chiming  pleasantly  on  the  ear  from  Hel-  night  for  ten  minutes  before  ten  o'clock.  The 
stonieigh.  ^  sound  startled  Anna.    She  had  indeed  overstayed 

•      'How  late  he  is  to-night!'  murmured  Anna.  'If;  iier  time, 
he  does  not  come  "soon,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  stay  ;      'Oue  moment,  Anna,'  cried   Herbert,   as  she 
out.'  •  V7as  preparing  to  fly  oflT.    'There  can't  beany 

Even  as  the  words  passed  her  lips,  a  faint ;  such  hurry.  Hester  will  hot  be  going  to  bed  yet, 
movement  might  be  distinguished  in  the  obscurity  |  on  a  hot  night  like  this.  I  wanted  you  to  give 
of  the  night,  telling  of  the  advent  of  Herbert  |  me  back  that  book,  if  you  have  done  with  it.  It 
Dare.  Anna  looked  round  to  see  that  the  win- !  is  not  mine,  and  I  have  been  asked  for  it.'  * 
dows  were  clear  from  prying  eyes,  and  went  forth  J  Truth  to  say,  Anna  would  be  glad  to  give  it 
to  meet  him.  j  back.     The  book  was   Moore's  'Lalla   Rookh,' 

He  had  halted  at  the  usual  place,  under  cover  ',  and  Anna  had  been  upon  thorns  all  the  time  she 
of  the  hedge.  The  hedge  of  sweetbriar,  skirting  I  had  been  reading  it,  lest  by  some  unlucky  mishap 
that  side  garden  into  which  the  Signora  Varsini  l  it  might  get  ta  the  sight  of  Patience.  She  thought 
had  made  good  her  en/ree,  iu  the  gratification  of  i  it  everything  that  was  beautiful;  she  had  read 
her  curiosity.  A  shady  tfralk,  and  a  quiet  one — i  pages  of  it  over  and  over  again;  they  wore  for 
very  little  fear  there  of  overlookers.  \  her  a  strange  enchantment;  but  she  had  a  shrewd 

'Herbert,  thee  art  lute  !'  cried  Anna.  I  suspicion,  that  neither  the  book  nor  her  reading  it 

'A  good  thing  I  was  able  to  come  at  all,' re- s  would  be  approved  by  Patience, 
sponded  Herbert,  taking  Anna's  arm  within  his  '      '^''^  bring  it  out  to  thee  at  once,  Herbert,  if  1 
own.     '1  thought  at  one  time  I  must  have  re- ,  can,' she  hastily  said.     'If  not,  I  will  give  it  the© 
main<'d  at  home    to    chastise   my  brother  An- ■  ^o-morrow  evening.' 

t^o°y-'  j     'Not  so  fast,  yifiung  lady,'  said  Herbert,  laugb- 

'Chastise  thy  brother  Anthony! 'repeated  Anna  iog,  and  detaining  her.  'You  may  not  come 
in  astonishment.  j  baobi    I'll  wish  you  goodnight  now.' 

Herbert,  for  the  first  time,  told  her  of  the  un-  j  .jjgy,  please  thee  let  me  go.  What  will  Hes- 
pleasantness  that  existed  between  his  brother  and  i  ter  say  to  me?' 

himself     Ho  o'id  not  speak  of  the  precise  cause;        Scarcely  giving  a  moment  to  the  adieu,  Anna 
but  simply  said  Anthonv  had  behaved  ill  to  him,  ;  ^„„j  „,^„„  „•,.  r,  r    .   .      .v.  > 

,  ,     '  '  J  I-     .       u,        J  •         ^P^°  along  wiih  swift  feet  to   the  garden  gate, 

and  drawn  down  upon  him  trouble  and  vexation.  ;  n  ,  .u  .     i.  •     .  ■      . 

.  „  „         II    I  fi     u     »  ,   ,j  u      1  i'Ut  the  moment  she  was  inside  that  separatinir 

Anna  was  all   sympathy.     Had  Herbert  told  her  *  u,^^;„„  „»  i  u    i  ,         j  .,     •         .     .^       '       .    , 
^.       „         u   J  I  •         u       -J         .        .    .u       ,       barrier,  atid  had  tuined  the  key, she  began— I  ttle 
the  ofience  bad  lam  on  his  side,  not  on  Anthony's, !  J-  ,„^Ki„., . I,  ♦    i  .      .  ... 

•  /    '    dissembler  that  she  was- to  step  on  sow  y,   n  a 


her  entire   sympathy  had    still    been   his.     She  i 


deemed  Herbert  everything   that  was  good,  and 


careless,  nonchalant  manner,  looking  up  at  the 


(sky,  turning  her  head  to   the  trees,  in  no  more 


great,   and   worthy.     Anthony— what -Itte  she,,  "      ,,     ..  ..        "  —  •'"'■" '^""' 

f  f  I  ■        .v.^AA  .,^.  I  bo  '^""y  apparently  than   if  bed   time  were   three 

knew  of  him— she  did  not  like.  .    „„„„„-     ei      u  j  n    ,      t^  ,. 

hours  off.     She  had  seen  Hester  Dell  standing  at 
»  'Herbert,  maybe  he  will  be  striking  thee  in  se-    the  house-door, 
cret,  when  thee  art  unprepared.'  'Child,'  said  Hester,  gravely,  'thee  should  not 

'Let  him  !'  carelessly  replied  Herbert.    'I  can    stay  out  so  late  as  this.' 
strike  again.    I  am  stronger  than  he  is.    I  know  j     «it  is  so  warm  a  night.  Hester.' 
one  thing— that  either  he  or  I  must  leave  my  ;      .But  thee  should  not  be  beyond  the  premises, 
father's  house,  and  get  lodgings  out— we  can't ;  PaHence  would  not   like   it.    It  is  past  thy  bed 
stop  in  it  together.'  I  time,  too. .  Patience's  sleeping-draught  has  not 

•It  would  be  he  to  leave  it,  would  it  not.  Her- 1  j.ome,'  she  added,  turning  to  another  subject, 
bcrt.'    Thy  father  would  not  be  so  unjust  as  to  ,     -Her   sleeping-draught  not   come!'    repeated 
turn  fhec  out  for  thy  brother's  fault.'  J  Anna,  in  surprise. 

'1  don't  know  about  that,'  said  Herbert.  'I  ex-  'it  has  not.  I  have  been  expecting  the  boy  to 
pect  it  is  I  who  should  have  to  go.  Anthony  is  knock  every  minute,  or  I  should  have  come  to 
the  eldest,  and  my  mother's  favourite.'  see  after  you.     Friend  Parry  may  have  forgotten 

Anna  lifted  her  hand,  in  her  innocent  surprise,    it  ' 
Anthony  the  favourite  by  the  side  of  Herbert?;     'Why,  of  course  he  must  have  forgotten  it,' 
She  could  not  understand  how  so  great  an  anom-  •  said  Anna,  inwardly  promising  to  give  the  boy  a 
alism  could  be.  ^       sixpence  for  his   forgetfulness.     'The  medicine 

Interested  in  the  topic,  the  time  slipped  on  and  nlwajs  comes  in  the  morning.  Will  Patience 
on.     During  a    moment  of  silence,  when  they    sleep  without  it. '' 

had  halted  in  their  walk,  th^y  heard  strike  out       'I  fear  me  not.    What  does  thee  think?    Sup- 
from  Hclstonlcigh  what  wni  called  the  ten  o'clock    pose  I  were  to  run  for  it?' 


36 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


•Yes,  do,  Hester.' 

They  went  in-doors,  Hester  shutting  the  back 
door  and  locking  it.  She  put  on  her  shawl  and 
bonnet,  and  was  going  out  at  the  front  door  when 
the  clock  struck  ten. 

'It  is   ten   o'clock,   child,'  she  said  to  Anna.  ; 
'Thee  go   to  bed.    Thee  need   not  sit  up.     I'll; 


with  enthusiasm.    'But  I  always  felt  afraid  of 
Hester's  finding  it  and  carrying  it  up  to  Patience. 
Patitnce  would  be  angry,  and  she  might  tell  my 
father.     That  is  why  I  am  glad  to  give  it  back  to  • 
thee.' 

'Why  did  you  not  lock  it  up  ?'  asked  Herbert. 

'I  did  lock  it  up.     I  locked  it  in  my  work-table 


takethelalch-key  with  me  and  let  myself  in.'      (drawer.    But  I  forget  to  put  my  keys  in  my 
•Oh,  Hester!    I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed  yet,' ;  pocket:  1  leave  them  about  anywhere.     I  should 
returned  Anna  in  a  grumbling  tone.    'It  is  like  a  !  have  been  out  with  it  sooner,  but  that  I  could  not 
»umm«r's  evening.'  ;  find  the  keys.' 

'But  thee  had  better,  child.'  urged  Hester.  Ta-  .  Anna  was  in  no  momentary  hurry  to  run  in 
ticnce  has  been  angry  with  me  once  or  twice,  say-  "o^-  I^e^ter  was  safe  for  full  twenty  minutes 
ing  I  sufler  thee  to  sit  up  late.  A  pretty  budget  ^o  '^^^^^  therefore  the  haste  need  not  be  so  great. 
«he  will  be  telling  thy  father  on  his  return.  Thee  j  She  knew  that  it  was  past  her  bed-time,  and 
go  to  bed.  Thy  candle  is  ready  here  on  the  slab,  it'^^t  Patience  would  be  wondering  (unless  by 
p     J     .  ,  .  ,  i  great  good  forUme  Patience  should  have  dropped 

Hest"er  departed,  shutting  fast   the  door,  and  '  '^^'^^P')  ^^^y  '^^  ^'^  »«*  go  in  to  wish  her  go'od 


carrying  with   her  the    latch-key.     Anna,  fully 


;  night.     But  these  reQcctions  Anna  conveniently 


•       J  .L  ^  r  •     J   Tj        »     <•        .r  1 „„    „_fia:nored,  in   the  charm  of  remaining  longer  to 

convmced  that  friend   Parry's  forgctfulness,  or ;  °„     ,  '  ,  „     ,      ,       ^i.    .  u  .r    u     .  .u  .    u 
the  boy's,  must  have  been   designed  as  a  special    talk  about  the  book.     She  told  Herbert  that  she 
favour  to  herself,  went  softly  into  the  best  par-  P^'l  ^^e"  ^°Py'"S  ^'^^  engravings,  but  she  mu.t 
lour  to  get  the   book   out  of  her  pretty  ,vork-    P"^  the  drawings  in  some  safe  place  before  Pa- 
,.  >  I  tience  was   about    again.     'Tell    me   the   time, 

_   *    ,  1     1        „q    A^.,.,  „„„ii  „„+    please,' she  suddenly  said,  bringing  her  chatter  to 

But  the  room  was   dark,  and  Anna  could  not  j '  '     .  •'  >        o    » 

find  her  keys.     She    believed  she   had  left  her  j  ^  standstill.  .   ,  , ,  .     ^ 

keys  on  the  top  of  tlus  very  work-table;  but  feel !      ^^^'^^'^  took  out  his  watch,  and  held  its  face 
as  she  would,  she  could  not  put  her  hands  upon  |  towards  the  moon.     'It  is  twelve  tainutes  past 
them.    With  a  word  of  impatience,  lest,  with  all ;   ^^' 
her  hurry,  Herbert  Dare  should  be  gone  before  ; 
she  could  get  to  him  with  the  book,  she  went  to 


the  kitchen,  lighted  the  chamber  candle,  spoken 
of  by  Hester,  as  placed  ready  for  lier  use,  and 
carried  it  into  the  parlour. 

Her  keys  were  found  on  the  mantel-piece.  She 
unlocked  the  drawer,  took  from  it  the  book,  blew 
the  candle  out,  and  ran  through  tho  garden  to  the 
field. 

Another  minute,  and  Herbert  would  have  left. 
He  was  turning  away  then.  In  truth,  he  had  not 
in  the  least  expected  to  see  Anna  back  again. 

'Then  you  have  been  able  to  come!'  he  ex- 
claimed, in  his  surprise. 


Then  I  must  be  going  in,'  said  Anna.  'She 
could  be  back  in  twenty  minutes,  and  she  must 
not  find  me  out  again.* 

Herbert  turned  with  her,  and  walked  to  the 
gale;  pacing  slowly,  both  of  them,  and  talking 
still.  He  turned  in  at  tiie  gate  with  her.  And 
Anna  made  no  demur.  No  fear  of  his  being  seen. 
Patience  was  as  safe  in  bed  as  if  she  had  been 
chained  there,  and  Hester  could  not  be  bacl^ 
quite  yet.  Arrived  at  the  door,  shut  as  Anna  had 
left  'it,  Herbert  put  out  his  hand.  'I  suppose  I 
must  bid  you  a  final  good-night  now,  Anna,'  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone. 

'That  thee  must.    I  have  to  come  down  the 


:  garden  again  to  lock  the  gate  after  thee.  And 
'Hester  is  gone  out,'  expb.incd  Anna.  'Friend  j  Hester  may  not  be  more  than  three  or  four  min- 
Parry  has  forgotten  to  send  Patience's  medicine,  |  yt^g  longer.  Good-night  to  thee,  Herbert.' 
and  Hester  has  gone  for  it.  Herbert,  thee  only  \  .Let  me  see  that  it  is  all  safe  for  you,  against 
think!  But  for  Hfster's  expecting  Parry's  boy  \  you  do  go  in,''  said  Herbert,  laying  his  hand  on 
to  knock  at  the  door,  she  would  have  come  out  ;  the  handle  of  the  door  to  open  it. 
here  searching  for  me  !  She  said  she  would.  I  ;  ^o  open  it?  Nay:  he  could  not  open  it.  The 
must  never  forget  the  time  again.  There's  the  \  jj^n^le  resisted  his  efforts.  'Did  you  lock  it, 
book,  and  thank  thee.    I  am  sorry  and  yet  glad  \  y^nna.'' 

to  give  it  thee  back.'  j     ^„na.  smiled  at  what  she  thought  his  awkward. 

'Is  that  not  a  paradox !'  asked  Herbert,  with  a  \  ness .    'Thee  art  turning  it  the  wrong  way,  Her- 
smile.     'I  do  not  know  why  you  should  be  either  i  bert.     See !' 

sorry  or  glad:  to  be  both  seems  inexplicable.'  He  withdrew  his  hand  to  give  place  to  hers, 

'I  am  sorry  to  lose  it:  it  is  the  most  charming  j  and  she  turned  the  handle,  softly  and  gently,  the 

book  1  have  read,  and  but  for  Patience  I  should  j  contrary  way;  that  is,  she  essayed  to  turn  it.  But 

like  to  have  kept  it  for  ever,'  returned  Anna,  !  it  would  not  turn  for  her,  any  more  than  it  had 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


for  Herbert  Dsfre.  A  sick  feeling  of  terror 
rushed  over  Anna,  as  the  conviction  of  the  truth 
grew  upon  her.  Hester  Dell  had  returned,  and 
she  was  locked  out ! 

In  good  truth,  it  was  no  less  a  calamity.  Hes- 
ter Dell  had  not  gone  far  from  the  door  on  her 
errand,  when  she  met  the  doctor's  boy  with  his 
basket,  hastening  up  with  the  medicine.  'I  was 
just  coming  after  it,*  said  Hester  to  him.  'What- 
ever brings  thee  so  late  ?' 

'Mr.  Parry  was  called  out  this  morning  before 
he  had  time  to  make  it  up,  and  ho  has  but  just 
come  home,' -was  the  boy's  reply.  'Better  late 
than  never,'  he  somewhat  saucily  added. 

'Well,  so  it  is,'  acquiesced  Hester,  who  rarely 
gave  anything  but  a  meek  retort.  And  she  turned 
back  home,  letting  herself  in  with  the  latch-key. 
The  house  appeared  precisely  as  she  had  left  it, 
save  that  Anna's  candle  had  (Jisappcared  from  the 
mahogany  slab  in  the  passage.  'That's  right ! 
the  child's  gone  to  bed,'  soliloquised  she. 

She  proceeded  to  go  to  bed  herself.  The 
Quaker's  was  an  early  household.  All  Hester 
had  to  do  now,  was  to  give  Patience  her  sleep- 
ing-draught.  'Let  me  see,'  continued  Hester, 
still  in  soliloquy,  'I  think  I  did  lock  the  back 
door.' 

To  make  sure,  she  tried  the  key  and  found  it 
was  not  locked.  Rather  wondering*,  for  she  cer- 
tainly thought  she  had  locked  it,  but  dismissing 
the  subject  the  next  minute  from  her  thoughts, 
she  locked  it  now,  and  took  the  key  out.  Then 
she  continued  her  way  up  to  Patience.  Patience, 
lying  there  lonely  and  dull  with  her  night-light, 
turned-her  eyes  on  Hester.  ♦ 

♦Did  thee  think  we  had  forgotten  thee.  Pa- 
tience ?  Parry  has  been  out  all  day,  the  boy  says, 
and  the  physic  is  but  this  minute  come.' 

•Where's  Anna  ?'  inquired  Patience. 

'She  is  gone  to  bed.' 

'Why  did  she  not  come  to  me  as  usual  ?' 

'Did  she  not  come  ':'  asked  Hester. 

'I  have  seen  nothing  of  her  all  the  evening.' 

'Maybe  she  thought  thce'd  be  dozing,'  observed 
Hester,  bringing  forward  the  sleeping  draught, 
which  she  had  been  pouring  into  a  wine-glass. 
She  said  no  more.  Her  private  opinion  was,  that 
Anna  had  purposely  abstained  from  the  visit,  lest 
she  should  get  a  scolding  for  going  to  bed  late, 
her  usual  houf  being  half-past  nine.  Neither  did 
Patience  say  any  more.  She  was  feeling  that 
Anna  might  be  a  little  less  ungrateful.  She  drank 
the  draught,  and  Ilcslcr  went  to  bed. 

And  poor  Anna?  To  describe  her  dismay,  her 
consternation,  would  be  a  useless  attempt.  The 
doors  were  fast — the  windows  were  fast.  Herbert 
Dare  essaycil  to  soothe  her,  but  she  would  not  be 
soothed.  She  sat  down  on  the  stop  of  the  back 
door,  and  cried  bitterly;  all   her  apprehension 


being  for  the  terrible  scolding  she  should  get 
from  Patience,  were  it  found  out;  the  worse  than 
scolding  she  might  get,  if  Patience  told  her  fa- 
ther. 

To  give  Herbert  Dare  his  due,  he  felt  truly 
vexed  at  the  dilemma,  for  Anna's  sake.  Could 
he  have  let  her  in  by  getting  down  a  chimney 
himself,  or  in  any  other  impromptu  way,  and  so 
opened  the  door  for  her,  he  would  have  done  it. 
'Don't  cry,  Anna,'  he  entreated,  'don't  cry!  I'll 
take  care  of  you.  Nothing  shall  harm  you.  I'll 
not  go  away,' 

The  more  he  talked,  the  more  she  cried.  Very 
like  a  little  child.  Had  Herbert  Dare  known 
how  to  break  the  glass  without  noise,  he  would 
have  taken  out  a  pane  in  the  kitchen  window, 
and  so  got  to  the  fastening,  and  opened  it.  Anna, 
in  worse  terror  than  ever,  begged  him  not  to  at- 
tempt it.     It  would  be  sure  to  arouse  Hester. 

'But  you'll  be  so  cold,  child,  staying  here  all 
night ! '  he  urged.     'You  are  shivering  now. 

Anna  was  shivering:  shivering  with  vexation 
and  fear.  Herbert  thought  it  would  be  better 
that  he  should  boldly  knock  up  Hester;  and  he 
suggested  it:  nay,  he  pressed  it.  But  the  pro- 
posal sounded  more  alarming  to  Anna  than  any 
that  had  gone  before  it.  It  seemed  that  there 
was  nothing  to  be  done. 

How  long  she  sat  there,  crying  and  shivering 
and  refusing  to  be  comforted  or  to  hear  reason, 
she  could  not  tell.  Like  half  the  night,  it 
seemed.  But  Anna,  you  must  remember,  was 
counting  time  by  her  own  state  of  mind,  not  by 
the  clock.  Suddenly  a  bright  thought,  as  a  ray  of 
light,  flashed  into  her  brain. 

'There's  the  pantry  window,'  she  cried,  arrest- 
ing her  tears.  'How  could  I  ever  have  forgotten 
it.'  There  is  no  glass,  and  thee  art  Strong  enough 
to  push  in  the  wire.' 

This  pantry  window  Herbert  Dare  had  known 
nothing  of.  It  was  at  the  side  of  the  house, 
thickly  surrounded  by  shrubs;  a  square  window 
frame,  protected  by  wire.  He  fought  his  way  to 
it  amid  the  thick  shrubs;  but  to  get  in  proved  a 
work  of  time  and  dilTiculty.  The  windojv  was  at 
some  height  from  the  ground,  the  wire  strong. 
Anna  sat  on  the  door-step,  never  stirring,  leaving 
him  to  get  in  if  he  could,  her  tears  falling  yet, 
and  terrific  visions  of  Patience's  anger  chasing 
each  other  through  h«r  mind.  And  the  night 
went  on. 

'Anna '.' 

She  could  have  shouted  forth  a  cry  of  delight 
as  she  leaped  up.  He  had  got  in,  bad  found  bis 
way  to  the  kitchen  window,  had  gently  raised  it, 
and  was  softly  calling  to  her.  Some  little  diffi- 
culty yet,  but  with  Herbert's  assistance  she  was 
safely  landed   inside,  a  great  tear  in  ber  dress 


38 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TilOUBLES. 


being  the  only  damage.    He  had  managed  to  get '  succeeded  by  an  evening  gathering,  and  it  was 


a  light  by  meuns  of  some  fusees  in  his  pocket, 
and  had  lighted  a  candle.  Anna  sat  down  on  a 
chair,  her  fare  radiant  through  her  tears.  'How 
shall  lever  thank  thee.'' 

He  was  looking  at  his  fingers,  with  a  half  se- 
rious, half  mocking  expression  of  dismay.  The 
wire  had   torn   them   in   many  places,  and  they  } 


nearly  one  o'clock  when  they  left  the  house  to 
return.  It  wanted  but  f.ve  minutes  to  two  when 
the  carriage  stopped  at  their  own  home,  and 
sleepy  Joseph  opened  tlie  door  to  them. 

'All  in  bed.''  asked  Mr.  Dare,  as  ho  -Ijustled 
into  the  hall. 

'I  believe  so,  sir,'  answered  Joseph,   as  care- 


were  bleeding.     •!  could  have  got  in  quicker  had    Icssly  as  he  could  speak.      Mr.  Dare,   he  was 
I  forced  the  wire  out  in  the  middle,'  he  observed,  '.  aware,  alluded  to  his  sons;  and,  not  being  by  any 
•but  that  would  have  told  tales.    I  got  it  away    means  sure  upon  the  point,  Joseph  was  willing  to 
from  the  side,  and   have  pushed  it  back  again  in  ;  evade  further  questioning, 
its  place  as  well  as  I  could.    Perhaps  it  may  cs- ;     Two  of  the  maids  came  forward^the  lady's 


cape  notice 


maid,  as  she  was  called  in  the  family,  and  Betsy. 


How  shall  I  ever  thank  thee?' was  all  Anna    Betsy  was  no  other  than  our  old  friend,  Betsy 


could  repeat  in  her  gratitude. 


',  Carter:  once  the  little  maid-of-all-work  at   Mrs. 


•Now  you  kcow  what  you  must  do,  Anna,'  said  •  Halliburton's;  risen  now  to  be  a  very  fine  house- 
he.     'I  am  going  to  jump  cut  through  the  win-  ^  maid  at  Mrs.  Dare's.     They  had  sat  up  to  attend 


and  be  off  home.     You  must  shut  it  and  '  upon  Mrs.  Dare  and  Adelaide. 


oow, 

fasten  it  after  me:  I'd  shut  it  myself,  after  I'm  1  Mr.'  Dare  had  been  a  long  while  in  the  habit 
out,  but  that  these  stains  on  ray  fingers  would  go  [  of  smoking  a  pipe  before  he  went  to  bed.  He 
on  the  frame.  And  when  you  leave  the  kitchen,  1  would  have  told  you  that  be  could  not  do  without 
remember  to  turn  the  key  of  the  door  outside.  I  J  it.  Did  business  or  pleasure  Jake  him  out,  he 
found  it  turned.  Do  you  understand  .'  And  now  |  niust  have  his  pipe  when  he  returned,  hotyever 
farewell,  my  little  locked-out  princess.     Don't  |  Idte  it  might  be. 

•How  hot  it  is!'  he  exclaimed,  throwing  back 
his  coat.  'Leave  the  hall  door  open,  Joseph:  I'll 
sit  outside.    Get  me  my  pipe.' 

Joseph  looked  for  the  pipe  in  its  appointed  rest- 
ing-place, and  could  not  see  it.      It  was  a  small, 


say  I  have  not  worked  wonders  for  you,  as  the 
good  spirits  do  in  the  fairy  tales.' 

She  caug'nt  his  hand  in  her  glad  delight.     She 
looked  at  him  with  a  face  full  of  gratitude'.  Her- 
bert Dare  bent  down  end  took  a  kiss  from  the  up- 
turned  face.     Perhaps  he  thought  he  had  fairly  j  handsome  pipe,  silver-mounted,  with  an   amber 
earned  the  reward.     Then  he  proceeded  to  swing  j  fnouth-piece.      The  tobacco-jar  was  there,  but 
himself  through  the  window,  feeling  delighted  !;  Joseph  could  see  nothing -of  the  pipe, 
that  he  had  been  ab!e  to  get  Anna  out  of  the  di-  J     '^^^  ■    ^  remember !'  exclaimed  Betsy.    •Mas- 

te^^had  left  it  in  the  dining-room  last  night,  and  I 


lemma. 

Before  Helstonleigh  arose  the  next  morning,  a 
startling  report  was  circulating  through  the  city, 
the  very  air  teeming  with  it.  A  report  that  An- 
thony Dare  had  been  killed  in  the  night  by  his 
brother  Herbert. 


V 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE      COMMOTION. 


Thl  Streets  of  Helstonleigh,  lying  so  still  and 
quiet  in  the  moonlight,  were  broken  in  upon  by 
the  noisy  sound  of  a  carriage,  bowling  through 
them.  A  carriage  that  was  abroad  late.  It 
wanted  a  very  short  period  to  the  lime  when  the 

church  clocks  would  boom  out  the  two  hours ' ;^-~^-;;;--;^;-^"^--^-;;j;°;:^^-j;.^ 

'  after  midnight.    Time,  surely,  for  all  sober  peo- 
ple to  be  in  bed ! 

The  carriage  contained  Mr.  Dare,  his  wife,  and 
daughter.  They  went,  as  you  may  remember,  to 
a  dinner  party  in  the  country.    The  dinner  was 


;  put  it  under  the  sideboard  when  I  was  doing  the 
room  this  morning,  intending  to  bring  it  away. 
:  I'll  go  and  get'it.' 

I  Snatching  the  candle  irom  Joseph's  hand,  she 
;  turned  hastily  into  the  dining-room.  Not,  how- 
;  ever,  as  hastily  as  she  came  out  of  it.  She  burst 
out,  uttering  a  succession  of  piercing  shrieks, 
I  and  laid  hold  of  Joseph.  The  shrieks  echoed 
'  through  the  house  up-stairs  and  down,  and  Mr. 
1  Dare  came  in. 

I     'Why,  what  on  earth's  the  matter,  girl .''  cried 
j  he.    'Have  you  seen  a  ghost?' 

•Oh,  sir!     Oh,  Joseph,  don't  loose  go  of  me; 
Mr.  Anthony's  a-lying  in  there,  dead!' 

'Don't  be  a  simpleton,' responde'd   Mr.  Dare, 
staring  at  Betsy. 

Joseph  gave  rather  a  less  complimentary  re- 
primand, and  shook  the  girl  off.  But,  all  in  a  mo- 
rose 
up  before  his  mind's  eye  tlie  vision  of  the  past  ' 
evening:  the  qnarrel,  the  threats,  the  violence 
between  Anthony  and  Herbert.  A  strange  ap- 
prehension seated  itself  in  the  man's  mind. 
•Be  still,  you  donkey !'  he  whispered  to  Betsy, 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


39 


his  voice  scarcely  audible,  Lis  manner  subJued  • 
to  meekness,  which,  ol  itself,  spoke  of  dread.  ; 
I'll  go  in  and  see.' 

Taking  the  candle,  he  went  into  the  dining-room. ' 
Mr.  Dare  followed.  The  worst  thought  thai  oc-^ 
cured  to  Mr.  Dare  was,  that  Anthony  might  have  ! 
taken  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him,  and  had  ] 
fallen  down,  helpless,  in  the  dining-room.  Un-,: 
happil}',  Anthony  had  been  known   so  to  trans-; 

gress.    Only  a  week  or  two  before but  let , 

that  pass:  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  us  now.  ; 

Mr.  Dare  followed  Joseph  in.     At  the   upper 
end  of  the  room,  near  the  window,  lay  some  one 
on  the  ground.    Wot  close  to  the  window,  in  the  ' 
space  between  the  uppercornerof  thcdiningtable  ; 
and  the  angle  made  by  the  two  sides  of  the  room 
It  was  surely  Anthony.      He  was  lying  on*  his 
side,   his  head    thrown    back,  and   his  face  up- 
turned. A  ghastly  face,  which  sent  poor  Joseph's 
pulses  bounding  on   with  a  terrible   fear  as  he 
looked  down  at   it.      The  same  face   which  had  ' 
.scared  Betsy  when  she  looked  down.  .' 

•He  is  stark  dead  !'  whispered  Joseph,  with  a; 
shiver,  to  Mr.  Dare.  ' 

Mr.  Dare,  his  own  life-blood  seeming  to  have  ] 
stopped,  bent  over  his  son  by  the  light  of  the  can- ' 
die.  Anthony  appeared  to  be  not  only  dead,  bul  | 
cold.  In  his  terrible  shock,  his  agitation,  he  ^lill  ; 
reEftmbered  that  it  was  well,  if  possible,  to  spare  ' 
the  sight  to  his  wife  and  daughter.  Mrs.  Dart; 
and  Adelaide,  alarmed  by  Betsy's  scirams,  had  ; 
run  down-stairs,  and  were  now  hastening  into  the  '■ 
room. 

*Go  back!  go  back  1'  cried  Mr.  Dare, fencing  ■ 
them  away  with  his  hands.     'Adelaide,  you  must  j 
not  come  in  !     Julia,'  he  added  to  his  wife,  in   a 
tone  of  imploring    entreaty,  'go  up-stairs,  and 
keep  back  Adelaide.' 

He  half  led,  half  pushed  them  across  the  hall. 
Mrs.  Dare  had  never  in  all  her  life  seen  his  faci- 
as she  saw  it  now — a  face  of  terror.  She  caughi 
the  fear;  vaguely  enough,  it  must  be  confessed, 
for  she  had  not  heard  Anthony's  name,  as  yet, 
mentioned  in  connexion  with  it. 

'What  is  it."  she  askeii,  holding  by  the  balus- 
trades.   'What  is  there  in  the  dining-room  .'' 

*I  don't  know  what  it  is,'  replied  Mr.  Dare, 
from  between  his  white  lips.  'Go  up-stairs!  Ade- 
laide, go  up-stairs  with  your  mother.' 

Mr.  Dare  was  stopped  by  screams.  While  he 
was  preventing  immediate  terror  to  hia  wife  and 
dau^hlcr,  the  lady's  maid,  her  curiosity  exritco 
beyond  repression,  hnd  slipp«M|  info  (h^  riinin.r. 
room,  und  pcpp«  d  (,. 
she  had  expcttci)    : 

have  slated;  what  sLtc  umI  .-.t.e  was  s'»  iar  wors.*^ 
than  her  wildest  fears  that  she  lost  sense  ol 
everything,  save  the  moment's  fear;  and  shriek 
after  shriek  echoed  from  her. 


One  entire  scene  of  confusion  ensued.  Mrs. 
Dare  tried  to  force  her  way  to  the  room;  Ade- 
laide screamed,  she  knew  not  at  what;  Betsy  be- 
gan bewailing  Mr.  Anthony,  by  name,  in  wild 
words.  And  the  sleepers,  up  stairs,  came  flock- 
ing outof  their  chambers,  with  trembling  limbs 
and  white  faces;  any  garment,  that  came  upper- 
most to  hand,  flung  upon  them. 

.  Mr."  Dare  put  his  back  against  the  dining-room 
door.  'Girls,  go  back!  Julia,  go  back,  for  the 
love  of  Heaven  !  Mademoiselle,  is  that  you  ? 
Be  so  good  as  stay  where  you  are,  and  keep  Rosa 
and  Minny  with  you.' 

'Mais,  qu'est-ce  que  c'est,  done.''  exclaimed 
mademoiselle,  speaking  in  her  wonder,  in  her 
most  familiar  tongue,  and,  truth  to  say,  paying 
little  heed  to  Mr.  Dare's  injunction.  'Y  a"-t-il 
du  mal-heur  arrive?' 

Betsy  went  up  to  her.  Betsy  recognized  her  as 
one  not  of  the  family,  to  whom  she  could  ease 
her  overflowing  mind.  The  same  thought  had 
occurred  to  Betsy  as  to  Joseph.  'Poor  Mr.  An- 
thony's lying  in  there  dead,  mamzel,'  she  whis- 
pered.    'Mr.  Herbert  must  have  killed  him.' 

Mademoiselle,  thus  startled,  shrieked  out  ter- 
ribly. Unheeding  the  request  of  Mr.  Dare,  un- 
mindful of  the  deficiencies  pr  want  of  elegance 
in  her  costume,  which  consisted  of  what  she 
called  a  peignoir,  and  a  borderless  calicq  night- 
cap, she  flew  down  to  the  hail.  And,  takihg  ad- 
vantage of  a  minute's  quilling  of  the  door  by  Mr. 
Dare,  she  slipped  into  the  dining-room.  Some 
of  the  others  slipped  in,  and  a  sad  scene  of  con- 
fusi'in  ensued.  WKat  will)  wife,  governess,  ser- 
vants, and  jchiJdren,  Mr.  Dare  was  powerless  to 
stop  it.  Mademoiselle  went  straight  up,  gave 
one  look,  and  staggered  back  against  the 
wall.  V 

'C'est  vrai!'  she  muttered.  'C'est  Monsieur 
\nlhony.' 

'It  is  Anthony,'  shivered  Mr.  Dare.  'I  fe.ar — 
[  fiar  violence  has  been  done  him.' 

The  governess  was  breathing  heavily.  She 
looked  quite  as  ghastly  as  did  that  upturned  face. 

'But  why  should  itbcr'  she  asked,  in  English. 
'Who  has  done  it.-' 

Ah,  who  had  done  it!  Joseph's  frightened 
fare  seemed  to  say  that  he  could  tell  if  hexlared. 
Cyril  bounded  into  ihe  room,  and  took  hold  of 
onn  of  the  arms.     But  he  let  it  fall  again. 

•It  is  rigid  !'  he  gaj^ed.  'Is  he  dead  :  Father, 
he  can't  be  dead  !' 

Mr.  Dare  hurried  Joseph  from  Ihe  room— h«T- 
1  him  across   the    hall   to  the  door.     He,  Mr. 
'   re,  seemed  so   ai;tt^ted  as    scarcely  to  know 
\v.j;ti  he  was  ahi<ut. 

'Make  all  haite,'  he  said:  'the  nearest  tur- 
geon.' 

'Master,'   whi<«pered    Joseph,    turning    round 


40 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


when  he  was  outside  tke  door,  and  his  agitation 
appeared   to   be  as    great  as   his  master's;  'I'm 
afraid  it's  Mr.  Herbert  who  has  done  this.' 
'Why  ?'  sharply  asked  Mr.  Dare. 
•They  had  a  dreadful  quarrel  this  evening,  sir, 
after  you  left.     Mr,  Herbert  drew  a  knife  upon 
his  brother.     I  got  in  just  in  time  to  stop  blood- 
shed, or  it  might  have  happened  then.' 
Mr.  Dare  suppressed  a  groan. 
•You  go  off,  Joseph,  and  get  a  doctor  here.  He 
may  not  be  past  revival.    Mr.  Milbank  is  the 
nearest.    If  he  is  at  h<<me,  bring  him;  if  not, 
get  anybody.' 

Joseph,  never  staying  for  his  hat,  sped  across 
the  lawn,  and  gained  the  entrance  gate  at  the 
very  moment  that  a  gig  was  passing.  By  the 
light  of  a  gas  lamp,  Joseph  saw  that  it  contained 
Mr.  Glenn,  the  surgeon,  driven  by  his  sei^vant. 
He  had  been  on  a  late  professional  visit  in  the 
country.  Joseph  shouted  out,  running  before  the 
horse  in  his  excitement,  and  the  man  pulled 
up. 

'What's  the  matter,  Joseph?'  asked  Mr.  Glenn. 
'Anybody  ill. >' 

Somewhat  curious  to  say,  Mr.  Glenn  was  the 
usual  medical  attendant  of  the  Dares.  Joseph 
explained  as  well  as  he  could,  that  Mr.  Anthony 
had  been  found  lying  on  tlie  dining-room  carpet, 
to  all  appearance  dead;  and  Mr.  Glenn  de- 
scended. ^ 

'Anything  up  at  your  place.-"  asked  a  police- 
man, who  had  just  come  by  on  his  beat. 

'I  should  think  there  is,'  returned  Joseph. 
'One  of  the  gentlemen's  been  found  dead.' 

'Dead  !'  echoed  the  policeman.  'Which  of  them 
is  it?'  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 
•Mr.  Anthony.' 

'Why,  I  saw  him  turn  in  here  about  half-after 
eleven,'  observed  the  oflicer.  'He  is  in  a  fit, per- 
haps.' 
'Why  do  you  say  that  ?'  asked  Joseph. 
'Because  he  had  been  taking  a  drop  too  much. 
He  could  hardly  walk.  Somebody  brought  him 
as  far  as  the  gate.' 

Mr.' Glenn  had  hastened  on.  The  policeman 
followed  with  Joseph.  Followed,  possibly,  in 
the  gratification  of  his  curiosity;  possibly  that  he 
deemed  his  services  might  be  in  some  way  re- 
quired. When  the  tv/o  got  into  the  dining-room, 
Mr.  Glenn  was  kneeling  down  to  examine  An- 
thony, and  sounds  of  distress  camc'  shrilly  on 
their  ears  from  a  distance.  They  were  caused  by 
the  hjsterlcs  of  Mrs.  Dare. 

'Is  be  dead,  sir?'  asked  the  policeman,  in  a  low 
tone. 

'He  has  been  dead  these  two  or  three  hours,' 
was  the  reply  of  Mr.  Glenn. 
But  it  wai  no  fit.    It  was  not  anything  so  inno- 


>  cent.  Mr.  Glenn  found  that  the  cause  of  death 
was  a  stab  in  the  side.    Death,  he  believed,  must 

/have   hecn   instantaneous;  and  the  hemorrhage 

;  was  chiefly  inward.  A  few  stains  there  were  on 
the  clothes  outside;  not  much. 

;     'What's  this  ?'  cried  Mr.  Glenn. 

|;  He  was  pulling  at  some  large  substance  on 
which  Anthony  had  fallen.  It  proved  to  be  a 
cloak.  Cyril — and  some  others  present— recog'- 
nised  it  for  Herbert's  cloak.  Where  was  Her- 
bert? In  bed?  Was  it  possible  that  he  could, 
sleep  through  the  noise  and  confusion  that  the 
house  was  in  ? 

'Can  nothing  be  done  ?'  asked  Mr.  Dare  of  the 
surgeon. 

Mr.  Glenn  shook  his  bead. 

♦He  is  stone  dead,  you  see;  dead,  and  nearly 
cold.  He  must  have  been  dead  more  than  two 
hours.    I  should  say  nearer  three.' 

From  two  to  three  hours !  Then  that  would  bring 
the  time  of  Jiis  death  to  half-past  eleven  o'clock, 
or  thereabouts,  close  upon  the  time  that  the  po- 
liceman saw  him  returning  home.  Somebody 
turned  to  ask  the  policeman  a  question,  but  he 
had  disappeared.  Mr.  Glenn  went  to  see  what 
he  could  do  for  Mrs.  Dare,  whose  cries  of  dis- 
tress had  been  painful  to  hear,  and  Mr.  Dai'e  drew 
Joseph  aside.  Somehow  he  felt  that  he  dared  no^jj 
question  him  in  the  presence  of  witnesses;  lesti) 
any  condemnatory  fact  should  transpire  to  bring 
the  guilt  home  to  his  second  son.  In  spite  of  the 
sight  of  Anthony  lying  dead  before  him,  in  spite 
of  what  he  had  heard  of  the  quarrel,  he  could 
not  bring  his  mind  to  believe  that  Herbert  had 
been  guilty  of  this  most  dastardly  deed. 

'What  time  did  j'ou  let  him  in ."  asked  Mr.  Dare, 
pointing  to  his  ill-fated  son. 

Joseph  anstfrered  by  a  sort  of  evasion! 

'The  policeman  said  it  was  about  half-after 
eleven,  sir.' 

'And  what  time  did  Mr.  Herbert  come  home?' 
In  point  of  fact,  but  for  seeing  the  cloak  where 
he  did  see  it,  Joseph  would  not  have  known 
whether  Mr.  Herbert  was  at  home  yet.  He  felt 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  tell  the  simple 
truth  to  Mr.  Dare— that  the  gentlemen  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  letting  themselves  in  at  any  hour 
they  pleased,  the  dining-room  window  being  left 
unfastened  for  them.  Joseph  made  the  admission, 
and  Mr.  Dare  received  it  with  anger. 

»I  did  it  by  their  orders,  sir,'  the  man  said,  with 
deprecation.  'If  you  think  it  was  wrong,  per- 
haps you'll  put  things  on  a  better  footing  for  the 
future.  But  to  wait  up  every  night  till  it's  pretty 
near  time  to  rise  again,  is  what  I  can't  do,  or 
anybody  else.  Flesh  and  blood  is  but  mortal,  sir, 
)  and  ciauld'nt  stand  it.' 


Hits.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


41 


•-But  you  woi-e  not  keptup  like  that?'  cried  Mr.  ]     •!  do  not  think  he  would,'  earnestly  Bpoke  Mr. 
Dr}n.  j  Dare. 

•iTes,  sir,  I  was.     If  one  of  the  gcnt'emen  |     'No,  no,  no!'  said    mademoiselle,  her  voice 
wasn't  out,  the  oth^r  would  be.     I  told  them  i;  i  rising   with   her  emphasis.     'He  never  kill  his 
was  impossible  1  could  be  up  nearly  all  night  ano    hr<»ther;  he  not  enough  mechani  for  that' 
every    night,   and    rise   in   the  mormng  jusl  Hit  |      'Perhaps  he  is  noi  cume  in?'  cried  Mr.  Dare, 
_^same,  and  do  my  work  in  the  day      So  tiioy  took  j  catching  ut  the  thought. 

to  have  the  dining-room  window  left  open,  and  i      Betsy   Carter  answered   the  wor^s.     She  bad 
came  in  that  way,  and  I  went  to  rest  at  my  proper  |  stolen  up  in  the  general  restlessnets,  and  halted 
hour.     Mr.  Cyril  and  Mr.  George,  too,  they  are  j  there, 
taking  to  stay  out.'  j      'He  must  be  come  in,  fiir,'  she  said;  'else  how 

•The  house  might  have  been  robbed  over  and  ;  could  his  cloak  be  in  the  dining-room  ?    They  are 
over  again,' exclaimed  Mr.  Dare.  -.aiing  that  ii's  Mr.  Herbert's  cloak  which  was 

'I  told   them  so,  sir;  but  they  laughed  at  me  !  ""^'^r  '^'r-  Anthony.' 
They  said  who'd  be   likely  to  come  through  lh« 
grounds,  and  up  to   the  windows  and  try  them . 
At  any  r;ite,  sir,'  added  Joseph, as  a  final  excuse. 


•they  ordrred  it  done.  And  that's  how  it  is,  sir. 
that  I  don't  know  what  time  either  Mr.  Anthon; 
or  Mr.  Herbert  caiue  in  last  night.' 

Mr.  Dare  said  no  more.  The  fruits  of  tin 
mode  ill  which  his  sons  had  been  reored  wei> 
coming  heavily  home  to  him.  He  turned  to  g> 
up  stairs,  to  the  chamber  of  Herbert.  On  lli< 
bottom  st;iirs,  swaying  herself  to  and  fro  in  he 


•What  has  Mr.  Herhert's  cloak  to  do  with  his 
v^omiiig  in  or  n<A  coming  in?'  sharply  a^ked  Mr. 
Dare.  *He  would  not  be  wearing  his  cloak  this 
-veather. ' 

•But  he  does  wear  it,  sir,' returned  Bctpy.  'He 

vent  out  in  it  to-night.' 

•Did  )i;U!.ee  him  ?' s'ernly  asked  Mr.  Dare. 

'ir  1  had./iseei'  him,  1  coulUn't  have  told  that 

c  went  out  in  it,'  independently   replied   Betsy, 

i.o,  like  her  mother,  was    fond  of  maintaining 

I  ler  own  opinion.     'I  was  looking  i  ul  of  the  win- 

!  dow  ill  Miss  Adelaide's  room,  and  1  saw  Mr.  Her- 


peignoir,  a  staring  print,   all   the   colours  of  Hi 

..„.„K   ..r     -.  II,         .,  „     ,.      ci^i  r.    I  !,»       .   .     '   'CitKO  <ut  by  way  of  the  dmiug-room  window 
rainn<'W. -ai  tile  governess,     ohe  lilted  her  while  /   "^' >■  &"     "•■  "j        j  t> 


i  luMurds  the  enirance  gale.' 


•I  hoped 


fact;  as  Mr    Dare  approached. 
•Ithed^ad."  \-    'Wearing  i.is  cloak  ?' 

Mr.  Dare  shook  his  head.  ■      'Wearing  his  cloak,'  assented  Betsy 

'The  surgeon  says  he  has  been  dead  ever  since  |  '«  ^^^  ^»"^  enough  in  it.' 
Oie  beginning  of  the  night.'  >      T'-e  words  seemed  to  carry  terrible  conviction 

'  'And  vionMeur  Herbert— is  he  dead?'  |   •»  l^'®  '"""'  °^  ^'''-   ^'"■«-     L'nwillmg  to  believe 

*Ht  dead  I'  repeated  Mr.  Dare,  in  an  accent  ol  ! 

'  I 

alarm,  tearing  pu»sib  y,  she  might  have  a  motivi  f 

for  Ihe  question.     'Wliat  should    bring  him  also 


dead?     Mademoiselle,  why  do  you  ahk  it?' 

'El,  me,  I  don't  know,'  she  answered.  *I  am 
bewildered  with  it  all.  Why  should  he  be  dead, 
and  not  the  other?  Why  should  either  be 
dead  .^ 

Mr.    Dare  »aw  that  she  did  look  bewildered 

scarcely  in  her  senses.     She  h>d  a  thick  whii- 

handkerchief  in  her  hand,   and   was  wiping  ili, 

inoisture  fiom  her  scarcely  less  white  face. 

'Did  you  witnes^s  ihc  quarrel  between  them; 


'he  Kirl,  he  sought  Joseph,  and  asked  him. 

•Yes,  for  certain,'  Joseph  answered.  'Mr. 
ilerbert,  as  he  was  coming  down  stairs  to  go  out, 
slopped  to  speak  to  me,  sir,  and  he  was  fastening 
his  cloak  on  then.' 

Minny  ran  up,  nearly  bursting  with  grief  and 
terror,  as  8^•c  laid  hold  of  Mr.  Dare.  'Papa! 
i)8pa'  is  it  true?'  she  sobbed. 

'Is  what  tiue,  child  r' 

'That  it  was  Herbert  ?    They  are  saying  so.' 

'Hush!' said  Mr  Dare.  Carrying  a  candle, be 
.vent  up  to   Herbert's  room,  bis  heart  aching. 


That  Herbert  could  i-leep  through  the  noise  was 
he  inquired,  supposing  that  she  bad  done  so,  hj  \  'urprising;  and  yet,  not  much  so  His  room  was 
her  words.  I  nore  remote  from  the  house  than  were  the  rest, 

'If  I  did,  I  not  tell,' she  vehemently  answered,  {-""^  looked  to  the  back.  But,  had  he  slept 
her  KoAlish  less  clear  than  usual.  'If  Joepl.  ; '^'''ough  it?  When  Mr.  Dare  went  in,  he  was 
say— I  hear  him  say  il  to  )ou  just  now— iha  Uling  up  in  bed,  awakine,  or  pretending  to 
Mon.^eur  Herbert  took  a  knile  tu  hi«  broth,  r,  .  I  "^'iike,  from  sleep  then.  The  window,  thrown 
not  K've  testimony  to  il.  \Vh»t  artair  is  u  oi  ?  '*"^'' "!""•  ""J  have  contributed  to  deaden  any 
mine,  that  1  should  tell  against  one  or  the  other  '  -""fd  •"  l*'"  house.  'Can  you  sleep  tbroucb  lbi», 
Who  did  it— who  killed  him?'  she  rapidly  con  •'  Herbert."  cried  Mr.  Dare. 

tinu-id.  'It  was  not  Monsieur  Herbert.  No — 1  Herbert  ttuppd,  and  rubbed  his  eyes, and  stared 
will  say  always  that  it  was  not  .Monsieur  Her-  again,  somtiliins  '•''«  pn«  i°  "  maze.  'Is  that 
bert.     He  would  not  kill  bis  brother'  .jou,  father  r'  be  presently  cried.    'What  is  it.'' 


MftS.  HALLIBCRTOIT**  TKOOBLBi. 


•Herbert,'  tftld  bii  father,  in  a  low  tone  of  pain, 
of  dread,  'what  hare  you  been  doing  to  your  bro- 
ther?* 

Herbert,  ai  if  not  understanding  the  drift  of 
the  question,  stared  more  than  ersr.  '1  have  done 
nothing  to  him,'  he  presently  said.  'Do  }ou  mean 
Anthony?' 

'Anthony  is  lying  on  the  dining-room  floor, 
killed— murdered.     Herbert,  tc/»o  didit7' 

Herbert  Dare  sat  motionless  in  bed,  looking 
Btterly  bewildered.  That  he  could  not  under- 
stand, or  was  affecting  not  to  understand,  was 
erident.    '  Antbot.y  is — what  do  you  say,  sir  !' 

'He  is  dead;  he  is  murdtred,'  rtplied  Mr.  Dare. 
'Oh,  my  son,  my  son,  say  you  did  nut  do  it!  for 
the  love  of  heaven,  say  yuu  did  not  do  it !'  And 
the  unhappy  father  hurst  into  tears,  and  sunk 
dowi  on  the  bed,  utterly  unmaQDed. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  grey  dawn  of  the  early  May  morning  wa' 
breaking  over  the  world — over  the  group  gath 
ered  in  the  dining-room  of  Mr.  Dare.  That  gen 
tleman,  his  surviving  sons,  a  stranger,  a  police- 
man or  two,  and  Sergeant  Delves,  who  had  been 
summoned  to  the  scene.  Sundry  of  the  house- 
hold were  going  in  and  out,  of  their  own  leiAtteus, 
curious  accord,  or  by  summons.  The  sergeant 
was  making  inquiries  into  the  facta  and  details  o'l 
the  evening. 

Anthony  Dare — as  may  be  remembered — had 
retired  to  his  room  in  a  sort  of  sullen  spirit,  re- 
fusing to  go  out,  when  the  message  came  to  hini 
from    Lord   Hawkesley.     It  appeared,  by  whai 
was  afterwards  learnt,  that  he,  Anthony  Dare, 
had  made  an  appointment  to  meet  Lord  Hawkes- 
ley and  some  other  gentlemen  at  the  Slar-and- 
Garter  hotel,  where  the  viscount  was  stayiiig- 
the   proposed  amusement  of  the  evening  beint 
cards.     Anthony  Dare  remained  in  his  chambei 
solacing  his   chafed    temper    with    brandy-an> 
water,  until  the  waiter  from  the  Star-and-Garu 
appeared   a  second  time,  bearing  a  note.     I'r.. 
note  Sergeant  Delves  had  found  in  one  of  ih 
pockets,  and  had  it  now  open  before  bim.    it  ra. 
aa  follows: — 

•Dear  Dare — We  are  all  hero  waiting,  an. 
can't  make  up  the  tables  without  you.     What  o 
you  mean  by  shirking  ui?  Come  along,  and  dun 
ba  a  month  ovar  it.        Yours, 

•Hawkeslst.' 

Thli  Bote  had  prsrailed.    Anthony,  poisibl^ 


i  repenting  of  the  solitary  evening  to  whieh  he 
^  had  condemned  himself,  put  on  his  boots  ag^in, 
\  and  went  forth:  not — it  is  not  pleasant  to  have  to 
record  it,  but  it  cannot  be  concealed — not  sober. 
s  Me  had  taken  ale  with  his  dinner,  he  had  taken 
I  Hine  after  it,  he  had  taken  brandy-and-water  in 
his  room;  and  the  three  combined  had  told  upon 
him.    On  his  arrival  at  the  Star-and-Garter,  he 
four.d  six  or  seven  gentlemen  assembled;  but,  in- 
sti  ad  of  sitting  down  there  in  Lord  Hawkesley's 
room,  it  was  suddenly  decided  to  adjourn  to  the 
lodgings  of  a   Mr.   Brittle,   hard    by;   a  joung 
Oxonian,  who  had  been  plucked  in  his  Little  Go, 
aid  was  supposed  to  be  reading  hard  to  avoid  a 
second  similar  catastrophe.    They  went  to  Mr. 
Brittle's   and   sat  down    to  cards,  oyer    which 
i>randy-and-water  and  other  drinks  were  intro- 
duced.    Anthony  Dare,  by  way  of  quenching  his 
thirst,  did  not  spare  them,  and  was  not  particu- 
lar as  to  the  sorts.  The  consequence  was,  that  be 
j  soon  bf came  most  disagreeable  company,  snarl- 
'.  ing  with  all  around;  and,  in  short,  unfit  for  play. 
f  This  contrttemps  put  the  rest  of  the  party  out  of 
^  sorts,  and  they  broke  up;  but  for  that,  they  might 
i  probably  have  sat  on  till  morning  light,  and  that 
\  poor  Unhappy  life  been  spared.    There  was  no 
/  Knowing  what  might  have  been.    Anthony  Dare 
\  was  in  no  fit  state  for  walking  alone,  and  one  of 
I'hem,  Mr.  Brittle,  undertook  to  see  him  home. 
(  Mr.  Brittle  quitted  him  at  the  gate,  and  Anthony 
'  Dare  stumbled   over  the  lawn  and   gained  the 
;;  house.     After  that,  nothing  farther  was  known 
'■  So  far  as  this  would  not  have  oet-n  known,  b    t 
j  that,  in  hastening  for  Delves,  the  policeman  had 
I  come  across   Mr.   Brittle.    It  was  only  natural 
^  that  the  latter,  shocked  and  startled,  should  bend 

>  his  steps  to  the  scene;  and  from  him  they  gath- 
^  ered  the  account  of  Anthony 's  movements  abroad. 
i  But  now  came  the  difficulty.  Who  had  let 
{Anthony  in?  Nobody.  There  was  little  doubt 
i  that  he  had  made  his  own  way  in  through  the 
J  dining-room  window.  Joseph  had  turned  the  key 
^'of  the  front  door  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  he  had 
^  not  been  called  upon  to  open  it  until  the  return 
i  it  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dare.  I'he  policeman  who  hap- 
S  ened  to  be  passing  when  Anthony  came  home*— ^ 
f   r  it  may  be  more  correct  to  say,  was  brought- 

>  Dine — testified  to  the  probable  fact  that  he  had 
I  iiiered  by  means  of  the  dining-room  window. 
i  :  he  man  had  watched  him;  had  seen  that,  in- 
<  >tcad  of  making  for  the  front  door,  which  faced 
i  'Jie  road  and  was  in  view,  he  had  stumbled  across 
J  ihe  grass,  and  disappeared  down  by  the  side  of 

>e  house.     On  this  side  the  dining-room  window 
.IS  situated;  therefore  it  wa^  but  reasonable  to 
'.appose  that  Anthony  had  so  entered. 
*Had  you  any  motive  in  watching  bim?'  asked 
Sergeant  Delves  of  this  maa. 


Mms.  HALLIBURTON'S  TAOVBLBI,  ^ 

'!folhing  particular,  except  to  »ee  that  he  did  thin)?  nor  nobody  from  the  time  I  looted  the  front 
not  fall,' was  the  reply.  "When  the  gentleman  )door  till  master  and  missis  came  home,' reiter- 
who  brought  him  home  loosed  his  arm,  he  to.d  -ated  J  scph.  'Let  me  repeat  it  ten  times  over,  I 
him,  in  a  joking  way,  not  to  gft  kissing  the  couldn't  say  it  no  plainer.  If  1  had  heard  either 
{round  as  he  went  in;  and  I  thought  I'd  watch  ;  of  ihe  gentlemen  come  in,  I  should  have  gone  to 
him,  that  I  might  go  to  his  assistance  it  he  did)  'em  to  see  if  anything  was  wanted.  Specially  to 
fall.     He  could  hardly  walk;  he  pitched  about,' Mr.  Anthony,  knowing  that  ha  was  not   sober 


trith  every  step. ' 
•Did  he  fall .'' 


when  he  went  out.' 
Two    points   appeared    more    particularly  to 


•No;  he  managed  to  keep  up.     But  I  should  Strike  on  the  mind  of  Sergeant  Delres.    The  one 
think  he  was  a  good  five  minutes  getting  over  the ;:  was.  that  no  noise  should  hare  been  heard;  that 


grass  plat.' 
•Did  the  gentleman  remain  to  watch  him.'' 


J  a  deed  like  this  could  hare  been  committed  in,  a* 
.it  appeared,  absolute  silence.     The  other  was, 


•No,  not  for  above  a  minute.     He  just  waited  >ihat  the  dining-room  window  should  have  been 
to  see  that  he  got  safe  over  the  gravel  path  on  to  ;  found  fastened  inside.     The  latter  fact  was  con- 


the  grass,  and  then  he  went  back.' 


;'  firmatory  of  the  strong  suspicion  that  tha  offender 


•Did  you  see  anybody  else  come  in?  About < was  an  inmate  of  the  house.  A  person,  not  an 
thattime.'— or  before  it. >— or  after  it. >  J  inmate  of  the  house,  would  naturally  have  ei- 

The  man  ahook  his  bead.  •!  didn't  see  nobody  j  caped  by  the  ope*  dining-room  window;  but,  to 
else  at  all.  I  shut  the  gate  after  Mr.  Anthony,  i  do  this,  and  to  fasten  it  inside  after  him,  was  an 
and  I  didn't  see  it  opened  again.  Not  but  what  |  impossibility.  Every  other  window  in  the  house, 
plenty  might  have  opened  and  shut  it  again,  and  j every  door,  had  been  securely  fastened;  some  in 
gone  in,  too,  when  I  was  higher  up  upon  my  :■  the  earlier  part  of  the  evening,  some  at  eleven 
^****'  /o'clock  by  Joseph.     Herbert  Dare  voluntarily  ac- 

Sergeant  Delves  called  .Toseph.  'It  appears  j  1^0 wiedged  that  it  was  he  who  had  fastened  the 
uncommon  odd  that  you  should  have  heard  no  <  Jming  room  window.  His  own  account  waa— 
noise  whatever.' he  observed.  *A  man's  move- 'and  the  sergeant  looked  at  him  most  narrowly 
ments  are  not  generally  very  quank  when  in  the,  while  he  gave  it—that  be  had  returned  home 
state  described  as  being  that  of  young  Mr  Dare. ;  late,  getting  on  for  two  o'clock;  that  he  had  come 
The  prohabilitv  is,  that  he  would  enter  the  in  through  the  dining-room,  and  had  put  down 
dining-oom  noisily.  He'd  be  nearly  sure  to  fall )  the  fastening  of  the  window.  He  declared  that 
again  the  furniture,  being  in  the  dark.' 


^he  had  not  seen  Anthony;  that  if  Anthony  had 
•It's  certain  thai  I  never  did  hear  him  '  replied  been  I)  ing  there,  as  he  was  afterwards  found,  he, 
Joseph.  •We  was  shut  up  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  ^  Herbert,  had  not  observed  him.  But,  he  said,  so 
was  mostly  nodding  asleep  from  the  time  I  locked  ;  far  as  he  remembered,  he  never  glanced  to  that 
up  at  eleven  till  master  came  home  at  two.  The  5  part  of  the  room  at  all,  but  had  gone  on  through 
two  girls  were  chattering  loud  enough;  they  was  ,  the  room  on  the  other  side  of  the  large  dining- 
at  the  table,  a-making  up  caps,  or  something  of  jtab'e;  between  the  table  and  the  fireplace.  And, 
that.  The  cook,  she  went  to  bed  at  ten;  she  was  )  jf  he  had  glanced  to  it,  he  coulrf  have  seen  no- 
^^^^-  f  thing,  for  the  room  was  dark.     He  had  no  light, 

•Then,  with  the  exception  of  you  three,  all  the ,'  and  had  to  feel  his  way. 

household  were  in  bed  ?'      '  ;     .,,,      •.,,., 

/     'Was  It  usual  for  tha  young  gentlemen  to  fasten 

•All  of  'em— as  was  at  home,'  answered  Jo- ;  tha  bolt  of  the  window.?'  Sergeant  Delves  asked 
seph.  'The  governess  had  gone  early,  the  two;  of  Joseph.  And  Joseph  replied  that  they  some- 
young  ladies  went  about  ten.  Mr.  Cyril  and  Mr. .  times  did,  sometimes  not.  If  by  any  chance  Mr. 
George  they  went  soon  after  ten.  They  came  ;  Anthony  and  Mr  Herbert  came  in  together,  then 
home  from  cricket  "dead  beat,"  they  said,  had  :  they  would  fasten  it;  or  if,  when  the  one  came  in, 
some  supper,  and  went  to  bed  soon  after  it.'         jhe  knew  that  the  other  was  not  out,  he  would 

•It's  not  usual  for  them— the  young  men,  I  equally  fasten  it.  Mr.  Cyril  and  Mr.  George  did 
mean— to  go  to  bed  so  early,  is  it.^  asked  Ser-   not  come  in  often  by  that  way;  in  fact,  tbey  were 

^not  out  so  late,  generally  speaking,  as  were  their 


geant  Delves. 

•No,  it  isn't,  except  on  cricket  nights,' an- ! brothers.' 
swered  Joseph.  'After  cricket  they  generally  .prrcisely  so.' Herbert aasented,  with  reference 
come  home  and  have  supper,  and  don't  go  out  to  the  fastening.  He  had  fastened  it,  believing 
again.    Other  nighU  they  are  mosUy  sure  to  be   »,„  brother  Anthony  to  be  at  home  and  in  bed. 


i  When  he  went  out  the  previous  evening,  Anthony 


out  late. 
•And  you  did  not  bear  Mr.  Herbert  ooaw  in  .>'  ^.d  already  gone  to  his  room,  expreaaiog  bis  ie- 
•Rergaant  Delvn,  I  aaj  that  T  never  heard  no-  teetieD  not  to  quit  it  again  that  night. 


44 


MRS.  HALL!  BURT     cr  TROUBLES. 


Sergeant  DeWes  inquired — no  doubt  for  rea-geant;  though  what  puzzled  him  and  what  did 
eons  of  his  own — whether  this  expressed  inieii-Miol  puzzle  him  had  lo  be  left  to  coi.jectiite,  for 
tion  on  the  part  of  Anthony  could  be  testified  to  J  he  gave  no  clue.  No  weapon  iiad  been  found, 
by.  anybody  besides  Herbert.  Yes.  By  Joseph,  { The  policemen  had  been  searching  tbon  ughly 
by  the  governess,  by  Rosa  and  Minny  Dare;  all ;  the  room,  partially  the  house;  but  had  cooieupon 
four  had  heard  him  say  it.  The  sergeant  would  }  no  instrument  likely  to  have  inflicted  the  wound, 
not  trouble  the  joung  ladies,  but  requested  to ;  A  carving-knife  or  common  table-knife  had  been 
speak  to  the  governess.  (snpuested,  remembering  the  previous  orcuire?  cei 

The  governess  was  indignant  at  the  request', of  the  evening;  but  Mr.  Glenn's  deciiUd  opinion 
being  made.  She  was  in  und  out  amongst  them  ;  wa-,  lh»t  it  must  have  been  a  very  different  in- 
wilh  her  white  face,  in  her  many-colourtd  peig-  ■,strument;some  slender, sharp-pointed,  two-edged 
Doir.  She  had  bet  n  upstairs  and  partially  ;  blndfe.Jie  thought,  about  *ix  itiches  in  length, 
dressed  herself;  had  discarded  the  boiderless  cal- /  The  most  suspicious  evidence,  referring  to 
ico  night-cap  and  done  her  hair,  aud  put  on  the  ;  Herbert,  was  the  cloak.  The  sergeant  had  es- 
peignoir  again,  and  come  down  to  see  and  to  lis- '  amined  it  curiously,  with  drawn-in  lips.  Herbert 
ten.     But  she  did  not  like  being  questioned.  ^disposed  of  this,  so  far   as   he  was  concerned — 

'I  know  nothing  about  it,' she  said  to  the  ser- ;  that  is,  if  he  was  to  be  believed.  He  said  that 
geant,  in  answer,  speaking  vehemently.  'Whatf  he  had  put  his  cloak  on,  had  gone  out  in  it  as  far 
should  I  know  about  it.>  1  will  tell  you  nothing.  \  as  the  entrance  gate;  but  hndinij  it  warmer  than 
I  went  to  bed  before  it  was  well  nine  o'clock;  I  ;  was  agreeable,  he  had  turned  back,  ttnd  flung  it 
had  the  headache,  and  I  never  heard  anyihiug /on  the  dining-room  table,  going  in,  as  he  had 
more  till  the  commotion.     Why  you  ask  me  .''       J  come  out.  through  the  wij.dow.     He  added,  as  a 

'But  you  can  surely  tell,  ma'am,  whether  or!  little  bit  of  confitmatory  te^timorly,  that  he  re- 
not  you  heard  Mr.  Anthony  say  he  was  going  to  ]  membered  seeing  the  cloak  begin  to  slide  off  the 
his  chamber  for  the  night;' remonstrated  the  ser- J  table  again;  that  he  saw  it  must  fall  to  the 
geant.  Aground;  but  being  in  a  hurry,  he  would  not  stop 

•Yes,  he  did  say  it,'  she  answered,  so  vehe-r  to  prevent  it,  or  to  place  it  heller, 
mently  as  to  impart  a  shrieking  sout.d  to  her  J  The  sergeant  seemed  never  to  take  his  eyes 
Toice.  'He  said  it  in  the  salon.  He  kicked  off;  from  their  sidelong  glance  at  Herbert  Dare.  He 
his  boots, and  told  Joseph  to  bring  his  slippers, (  had  gone  to  work  in  his  own  way;  hearing  the 
and  lo  takebrandy-ar.d-waler  to  his  room,  (or  he  ^  ditferent  accounts  and  conjectures,  silling  this  bit 
should  not  leave  it  again  that  night.  I  never  J  ,.f  evidence,  turning  about  that,  holding  a  whis- 
thought  or  knew  that  he  had  left  it,  uoiil  I  .-aw/  pcred  colloquy  with  the  man  who  had  been  sent 
him  lying  in  the  dining-salle,  and  they  said  he,  to  examine  Herbert's  room:  holding  a  longer 
was  dead.'  whispered    colloquy  with  Herbert  himself.     On 

•Was  Mr.  Herbert  present  when  he  said  he  the  departure  of  the  surgeon  and  Mr.  Brittle, 
should  go  to  his  room  for  the  liighl.''  '1  who  had  gone  away  together,  he  had  marched  to 

'He  was  present,  I  think;  I  think  he  had  come /'the  front  and  side  doors  of  the  house,  locked 
in  then  to  the  salon.  That  is  all  1  know.  I  made^ihem,  and  put  the  keys  in  his  pocket.  'IVobody 
the  tea,  and  then  my  head  got  bad,  and  Iwenl^goes  out  of  this  here  without  my  permission,' 
to  bed.     I  can  tell  you  nothing  further.'  ;! quoth  he.         > 

'Didyouhear  any  noise  in  the  house,  ma'am."!     '^*'^"  ^®  ^^°^   Mr.  Dare  aside.    'There's  no 

'No.  If  there  vas  any  noise  I  did  not  notice 'mistake  about  this,  I  fear,'  said  he,  gravely, 
it.  1  soon  went  to  sleep  Wn»re  is  the  u^e  ofj  Mr.  Dare  knew  what  he  meant.  Tie  himself 
your  asking  me  these  tlinjis.'  You  5-hould  ask  j  v/as  growing  grievously  faint-hearted.  But  be 
those  who  sat  up.  I  shall  be  sick  if,  you  msike  J  would  not  say  it;  he  would  r.ot  let  it  be  Keen  that 
me  talk  about  it.  Nothing  of  this  ever  arrived  'he cast,  or  could  cast,  a  suspicion  to  Herbert.  'It 
in  any  family  where  1  have  served  before.'  j  appears  to  me  that— that— if  poor  Anthony  was 

The  sergeant  allowed  her  to  retire.  She  went  in  the  staj.e  they  describe,  that  he  may  have  sat 
to  the  stairs  and  sat  down  on  the  lower  step,  and  down  or  lain  down  after  entering  the  dining- 
leaned  her  cheek  upon  her  hand,  all  she  had  done  >  room,  and  dropped  asleep,'  observed  Mr.  Dare, 
previously.  Mr.  Dare  asked  her  why  hhe  did  | 'Easy,  then — the  window  being  left  open — for 
not  go  up  stairs,  away  from  the  confusion  arid  some  evil  midnii£ht  housebreaker  from  the  street 
bustle  of  the  sad  scene;  but  she  shook  her  head  ',  to  have  come  in  and  attacked  him.' 
She  did  not  care  to  be  in  her  chamber  alone,  she  \  'Pooh  !'  said  Sergeant  Delves.  'It  is  no  mid- 
answered,  and  her  pupils  were  shut  in  with  Mad- 1  night  housebreaker  that  has  done  this.  We  have 
ame  Dare  and  Mademoiselle  Ad^-laide.  j  g  difficult  line  of  duty  to  perform  at  times,  us  po- 

It  it  poaeilrlo  that  one  thing  puzzled  the  ser*  \  lice;  and  all  we  can  do  to  soften  matters,  is  to  go 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


to  work  as  genteelly  as  is  consistent  with  the  law./ to  it.    The  churches  struck  half-pait  one  as  I 

I'm  sorry  to  have  to  say  it,  Mr.  Dare,  but  I  hare    came  through  the  ttwn.* 

feii  obligated  to  order  my  men  to  keep  a  look-out '      'Where  did  you  stay  ?* 

on  Mr.  Herbert.'  ;      'Well — I  can't  say,' replied  Herbert. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  Mr.  Dare.  'It  could  '  Mr  Dare  grew  agitated.  'You  must  say,  Her- 
not  have  been  Herbert!'  he  rejoined,  his  tone  one  ^  btrt,'  he  hoarsely  whispered,  'or  take  the  coDse- 
of  wailing  pain,  almost  of  entreaty.    'Mr.  Glenn    quences  ' 

says  it  could  nut  have  been  done  later  than  half-  '  'I  can't  help  the  consequences,'  was  Herbert's 
past  eleven,  or  thereabouts.  Herbert  never  came  :  answer.  'Where  I  was  last  night  is  no  matter  to 
home  until  near  two.'  )  anybody,  and  1  shall  not  say,' 

•Who  is  to  prove  that  he  was  not  at  home  till;  'Your  not  saying— if  you  can  say— is  just  folly,' 
near  two.''  )' interposed  the  sergeant      'It's  the  first  question 

•He  says  he  was  not.     I  have  no  doubt  it  can    ^^'^  magistrates  will  ask  when  you  are  placed  be- 

be  proved.     And   poor  Antheny  was  dead  more    '°'*^'^*'" 

than  two  hours  before.'  f      Herbert  looked  up  angrily.    'Place  me  before 

,xr       1     ,  .         J      •  J  o  4  r\  1         '•  t^"*    magistrates!'    he    echoed.     'What    do  you 

•Now  look  you  here,'  cried  Sergeant  Delves,;  ,    ,-         •  .  «.       •  "-•■    ««  j"" 

r..ii        k     I  r  .       u  r  k'       .Ryi      mean .'     xou  will  not  dare  to  take  me  into  cus- 

falling  back  on  a  favourite  phrase  of  his.     'Mr.  )  , 

Glenn  is  correct  enough  as  to  the  time  of  the  oc-'       v        l 

currence;  I  have  had  some  experience  in  death  ^  'y.""  ^*^*  ,^"°  '"  <="«t°'Jy  this  half  hour,' 
myself,  and  I'm  sure  he  is  not  far  out.  But  letf^^^^''^  ''"^"'■ned  the  sergeant, 
thatpa.s.  Here  are  witnesses  who  saw  him  alive  "erbert  looked  terribly  fierce.  •!  will  not 
at  ha  If- past  eleven  o'cUck.  and  you  come  home  •"^'""  '°  ^^"^  '"dignity,'  he  exclaimed.  'I  tcill 
at  two  and  find  him  dead.  Now  let  your  son  "°'-  Sergeant  Delves,  you  are  overstepping— ' 
Herbert  just  state  where  he  was  from  half-past;  'Look  here,' interrupted  the  sergeant,  drawing 
eleven  till  two.  He  says  he  was  out;  not  near  something  from  some  part  of  his  c]o(hes;and  Mr. 
home  at  all.  Very  good.  Only  let  him  mention  Herbert,  t.  his  dismay,  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of 
the  place,  so  that  we  can  verify  it,  and  tind,  be-  handcuffs.  'Don't  you  force  me  to  use  them,' 
yond  dispute,  that  he  ira5  out,  and  the  sU'picion  said  the  ofiircr.  'You  are  in  custody,  and  must 
against  bim  will  be  at  an  end.  But  he  won't  do  )go  before  the  magistrates;  but  now, you  be  agen- 
this.'  'tieman,  and  I'll  use  you  as  one.' 

•Not  do  it ."  echoed  Mr.  Dare.  '     'I  protest  upon  my  honour  that  I  have  had  nei- 

•He  tells  me,  point  blank,  that  he  can't  and  he  l^^^''  ^^^^  "O""  P"^ '°  ^^is  crime !'  cried  Herbert,  in 

won't.     I  asked  him.'  |agitation.    'Do  you  think  I  would  stain  my  hand 

..      _  ,   .  ,  ,  .with  the  sin  of  Cain.'' 

Mr.    Dare   turned   impetuously  to    the  room ' 

where  he  had  left  his  second  son-his  eldest  son  ;  '^^^'*  "  ^^^^  «"  JOur  hand.''  asked  the  ler- 
now  'Here,  Herbert'-he  was  beginning.  But  P^^"''  ''«"'^'ng  forward  to  look  more  closely  at 
theoflaccrcut  short  the  words  by  drawing  him  :^^'''^''''*'*  ^"S*"- 

back.  )     Herbert  held   them   out,   openly   enough.     'I 

'Don't  go  and  make  matters  worse,' whispered  ,^^»  doing  something  last  night  which  tore  my 
he;  'perhaps  they'll  be  bad  enough  without  it.  fingers,' he  said.  •!  was  trying  to  undo  the  fast- 
Now,  Lawyer  Dare,  jou'll  not  turn  obstinate,  en'^gs  of  some  wire.  Sergeant  Delves,  1  de- 
fer I  am  giving  you  a  bit  of  friendly  advice.  You  ^'^'"®  *°  y°"  solemnly,  that  from  the  moment 
and  I  have  had  many  a  transaction  together,  and  ^^^^  ™J  bro'hrr  went  to  his  chamber,  as  wit- 
I  don't  mind  going  a  bit  out  of  my  way  for  you,  ""'^s  have  slated  to  you,  I  never  saw  him,  until 
as  1  wouldn't  do  for  other  people.  The  worst  ""1  ^^^]'^^  brought  me  down  from  my  bed  to  tee 
thing  your  son  could  do,  would  be  to  say  before  ,'*''"  'J'"?  aead.' 

them  chatiering  servants  that  he  can't  or  won't       '^°"  ^'^*^  *  •'"'f*  o"  him  not  many  hours  be- 
tell    where   he  has  been    all  night,  or  half  the    '""'■''' 7°" ''"°'^' '"''.  Herbert  ' 
ni(jht.     It  would   be  self  condemnation  at  once.        'It  was  done  in  the  heat  of  passion.     He  pro- 
Ask  him  in  private,  if  you  must  ask  him.'  voked  me  very  much;  but  [  should  not  have  used 

,it.  No,  poor  fellow!  I  should  never  have  injured 
him. ' 


Mr.  Dire  called  hit  son  to  him,  and  Herbert 
answered  to  it.  A  policeman  was  sauntering 
after  him,  hut  th%  sergeant  gave  bim  a  nod,  and 
the  man  went  back. 

'Herbert,  you  say  you  did  not  come  in  until 
near  two  thiit  morning  i' 


'Well,  you  only  m«ke  your  tale  good  to  the 
masristratf-s,'  was  nil  the  answer  of  the  Sergeant. 
'It'll  he  their  aflfair  at  soon  as  you  areafore  'em — 
n'^'t  mine  ' 

Herbert  Dare  was  handed  back  to  the  police* 
'Neither  did  I.  It  wanted  about  twenty  minutes  I  man;  and  aa  aooa  aa  tbe  Justice-room  opened. 


MM.  BALLIfiVKTOIM  moVBUl^ 


w»8  conT«yed  before  the  magistrates— all,  »■  the ',     'It  Anthony  dead?  It  h' 
lergeant  termed  it — in   a  genteel,  gentlemanly  Uhee?' 
Borl  of  way.     He  wai  charged  with  the  murder^ 
of  his  brother  Anthony. 


-Aona !  what  bait 


Anna  bad  dropped  the  shirts  and  the  buttoDf. 
Her  blue  eyes  had    closed,  her  lips  and  cbeeka 


To   describe  the  commotion   that  orersprcad  J  '>'»d  K'-o^"  ^lJ'»«.  *>"  ^»"^»  f*"  powerle«s. 


'c;he  is  fainting!'  shouted  Gar,  as  he  ran  to 

support  her. 

'Gar,  dear,'  said  Patience,  'thee  should  not  tell 
ill  news  quite  so  abruptly.  Thee  hast  made  m* 
feel  queer  Can  thee  stretch  thy  hand  out  to  tko 
bell.'    It  will  bring  up  Hester.' 


Helstonleigh  would  be  beyond  any  pen.  Th*-  > 
college  boys  were  in  a  strange  state  of  excite- ; 
ment;  both  Anthony  and  Herbert  Dare  had  been  | 
college  boys  themselres  not  so  Tery  long  ago.  I 
Gar  Halliburton — who  was  no  longer  a  college  \ 
boy.  but  a  supernumerary — went  home  full  of  it.  | 
HaTing  imparted  it  there,  he  thought  he  could  ( 
not  do  better  than  go  in  and  regale  Patience  with  | 
the  news,  by  way  of  divtrtisatmtnt  to  her  sick| 
bed. 

•May  I  come  up.  Patience .''  he  called  out  from  > 
the  foot  of  the  stairs.  'I  hare  got  something  to  | 
tell  you.'  ( 

Receiving  permission,  up  he  flew.  Patience,/ 
partially   raised,    was   sewing   with   her  hands,) 

which  she  could  cocitrire  to  do.    Anna  sat  by  '     Hilstonleich  could  not  recorer  its  equanlm- 
the  window,  putting   the  buttons  on  some  new  ;  '^J-    ^«'"  ^''^  •»  be«n  •<>  '"wdely  shaken.     Inci 


CHAPTER  Xn. 


COMMITTED  FOR  TSIAL. 


shirts. 

<I  hare  finished  two,'  cried  she,  turning  round 
to  Gar  in  great  glee.  'And  my  father's  coming 
home  next  week,  he  writes  us  word.  Perhaps 
thy  mother  has  had  a  letter  from  William. 
Look  at  the  shirts !'  she  continued,  exhibiting 
them. 

'Nerer  mind  bothering  about  shirts  now,  Anna,' 
returned  Gar,  losing  sight  of  his  gallantry  in  his 
excitement.  'Patience,  the  most  dreadful  thing 
has  happened.     Anthony  Dare's  murdered  !' 

Patience,  calm  Patience,  only  looked  at  Gar. 
Perhaps  she  did  not  believe  it.  Anna's  hands, 
holding  out  (he  shirts,  were  arrested  mid  wa>; 
her  mouth  and  blue  eyes  alike  opening. 

'He  was  murdered  iu  their  dining-room  in  the 
night,' went  on  Gar.  intent  only  on  his  tale.  'The 
town  is  all  up  in  arniit;  jfou  never  saw  such  an 
uproar.  When  we  came  out  of  school  just  now, 
we  thought  the  French  must  have  come  to  invade 
us,  by  the  crowds  there  were  in  the  street.  You 
couldn't  get  near  the  Guildhall,  where  the  exam- 
ination was  going  on.  Not  more  than  half  a 
dozen  of  us  were  able  to  fight  our  way  in.  Her- 
bert Dare  looked  so  pale;  he  was  standing  there, 
guarded  by  three  policemen ' 

'Thee  hast  a  fast  tongue.  Gar,  interrupted  Pa- 
tience 'Dost  thee  mean  to  say  Herbert  Dare 
was  in  cu-stody  ?' 

'Of  course  be  was,'  replied  Gar,  faster  than 
before.  'It  is  he  who  has  done  it.  At  least  he 
is  accused  of  it.  He  and  Anthony  bad  a  quarrel 
yesterday,  and  it  came  to  knives.  They  were 
parted  then;  but  he  is  supposed  to  bare  laid  watt 
for  Aatkovy  in  tbe  sight  ud  killed  btm.' 


dents  there  had  been  as  startling;  crimes  of  as 
{  dei-p  a  dye;  but,  taking  it  with  all  its  attendant 
\  circumstances,  no  occurrence,  in  tbe  memory  of 
I  the  oldest  inhabitant,  had  excited  the  interest  that 
I  was  attaching  to  the  death  and  assumed  murder 

of  Anthony  Dare. 

The  station  in  life  of  the  parties,  above  that  in 
which  such  unhappy  incidents  are  more  generally 

!  found;  the  eons,picuous  position  they  occupied  in 
the  town;  and  the  very  uncertainty— the  mys- 
tery, it  may  be  said — in  which   tbe  aSair  was 

I  wrapped,  wrought  local  curiosity  to  the  highest 

I  pitch. 

I     Scarcely  a  shadow  of  doubt  rested  on  the  pub- 

( lie  mind  that  the  deed  had  been  dune  by  Herbert 

>  Dare.  The  police  force,  actively  engaged  in 
searching  out  all  the  details,  held  the  same  opin- 
ion. In  one  sense  this  was,  perhaps,  unfortu- 
nate; for  when  strong  suspicion,  whether  of  the 

I  police  or  of  the  public,  is  especially  directed  to 
I  one  isolated   point,  it  inevitably  tends  to  keep 
)  down  doubts  that  might  arise  in  regard  to  other 
quarters. 

It  seemed  scarcely  possible  to  hope  that  Her- 

I  bert  was  not  guilty.     All  the  facts  tended  to  the 

assumption  that  he  was  so.    There  was  the  ill- 

>  feeling  known  to  have  existed  between  himself 
and  his  brother;  the  quarrel  and  violence  in  the 
dining-room  not  many  hours  before,  in  which 

J  quarrel   Herbert  had  raised   a  knife  upon  him. 

I  'But  for  the  opportune  entrance  of  the  servant 
Joseph,'  said  the  people  one  to  another,  'the 
murder  might  have  been  done  then.'  Joseph  had 
stopped  ill  consequences  at  the  time,  but  he  had 
not  stopped  the  mouth  of  Herbert — the  threat  he 
k»d  uttered  ia  bis  pMiioB— itiU  to  be  reresged. 


flALLIB0ll¥Ol«f  TAOVBLm. 


<7 


Ttrribly  thoia  words  told  now  attinit  Herbert 
D»re.* 

Another  thing  that  told  against  him,  and  in  a 
most  forcible  manner,  was  the  cloak.  That  he 
had  put  it  on  to  go  out;  nay,  had  been  seen  to  go 
out  in  it  by  the  housemaid,  was  indisputable;  and 
his  brother  was  found  lying  on  this  Tery  cloak. 
In  rain  Herbert  protested,  when  before  the  mag- 
istrates and  at  the  coroner's  inquest,  that  he  re- 
turned before  learing  the  garden  gates,  and  had 
flung  this  cloak  into  the  dining-room,  finding  it  too 
hot  that  erening  to  wear.  He  obtained  no  credit. 
H-^  had  not  been  seen  to  do  this;  and  the  word 
of  an  accused  man  goes  for  little.  All  ominoufi, 
these  things — all  telling  against  him,  but  nothing, 
taking  them  collectively,  as  compared  with  his 
refusal  to  state  where  he  was  that  night.  He 
left  the  house  between  eight  and  nine,  close  upon 
nine,  he  thought;  he  was  not  sure  of  the  exact 
time  to  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  and  he  nerer  re- 
turned to  it  until  nearly  two.  Such  was  bin  ac- 
count. But  where  he  had  been  in  the  interim, 
he  poiitirely  refused  to  state. 

It  was  only  his  assertion,  you  see,  against  the 
broad  basis  of  suspicion.  Anthony  Dare's  death 
nust  have  taken  place,  as  testified  to  by  Mr. 
Glenn,  somewhere  about  half-past  eleren;  whi 
was  to  prove  that  Herbert  at  that  time  was  not  ai 
home  ? 

'I  was  not,'  Herbert  reiterated,  when  before 
the  coroner.  'I  did  not  get  home  till  between 
half-past  one  and  two.  The  churches  struck  the 
half  hour  as  I  was  coming  through  the  town,  and 
it  would  take  me  afterwards  some  ten  minutes  tc 
get  home.  It  must  have  wanted  about  twenty 
minutes  to  two  when  I  entered.' 

•But  where  were  you ?  Where  had  you  been? 
Where  did  yon  come  from  ?'  he  was  asked. 

'That  I  cannot  state,'  he  replied.  'I  was  out 
upon  a  little  business  of  my  own;  business  that 
concerns  nobody;  and  I  decline  to  make  it  pub- 
lic.' 

On  that  score  nothing  more  could  be  got  from 
him.  The  coroner  drew  his  own  conclusions;  the 
jury  drew  theirs,  the  police  had  already  drawr 
them,  and  very  positive  ones. 

These  were  the  two  facts  that  excited  the  in 
of  Sergeant  Delves  and  his  official  colleague« 
with  all  their  searrhing,  they  could  find  o< 
weapon  likely  to  have  been  the  one  used;  atK' 
they  could  not  diiirover  whsre  Herbert  Dare  had 
gone  that  evening.  It  happened  that  nobody  r 
membered  to  have  seen  him  parsing  in  the  town 
early  or  late,  or,  if  they  had  seen  him,  it  h;i< 
made  no  impression  on  their  memory.  The  ap 
pearance  of  Mr.  Dare's  sons  was  so  common  ai 
occurrence  that  no  especial  note  was  likely  tc 
ksT*  b—m   take*  •/  it.     Ii«rt>«^  declared  tka 


in  passing  through  West  Street,  Turtle,  the  aue> 
tioneer,  was   leaning   out  at  hit  open  bed-room 
window,  and  that  he,  Herbert,  had  called  out  to 
him,  and  asked  whether  he  was  star-gazmg.  Mr. 
Turtle,  when  applied  to,  could   not  corroborate 
this.     He  believed  that  he  had  been  loi  king  out 
I  at  his  window  that   night;   he    believed  that  it 
might  have  been  about  the  hour  named,  getting 
on  for  two,  for  he  was  late  going  to  bed,  having 
been  to  a  supper  party;  but  he  had  no  recollec- 
tion whatever  of  seeing  Mr.  Herbert  pass,  or  of 
having  been  spoken  to  by   him,  or  by  anybody 
<el>e.     When  pressed  upon  the  point,  Mr.  Turtle 
^acknowledged  that  his  intellect!,   might  not  have 
'  neen  in  the  clearest  state  of  perception,  the  sup- 
.  per  party  having  been  a  jovial  one. 
\     One  of  the  jury   remarked   that  it  was  very 
I  singular  the  pt  isoner  could  go  through  the  dining- 

>  room,  and  not  observe  his  brother  lying  in  it.  The 
^  prisoner  repl'cd  that  it  was  not  singular  at  all. 
>Thtf  room  was  in  darkness,  and  he  had  felt  his 
>.  way  through  it  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  table 

to  that  where  his  brother  was  afterwardi*  iound. 
;  He  had  gone  straight    through,  and    up  to  his 

>  chamber,  as  quietly  as  possib'e,  not  to  disturb  the 
t^  house;  and  be  dropped  asleep  as  soon  as  he  was 
^nbed. 

)  The  verdict  returned  was  'Wilful  murder 
<  (gainst  Herbert  Dare;'  and  he  was  committed  to 
^>he  county  goal  to  take  his  trial  at  the  a^^sizes. 
\  Mr.  Dare's  house  was  beyond   the  precincts  of 

>  'he  city.  Sergeant  Delves  and  his  men  renewed 
J  their  inquiries;  but  they  could  discover  no  trace, 
/  »'iiher  of  the  weapon,  or  of  where  Herbert  Dare 
^  had  passed  the  suspicious   hours.    The  sergeant 


was  vexed;  but  he  would  not  allow  that  he  was 


/  beaten. 

J     'Only  give  us  time,'  said  he,  with  a  character- 

I  istio  nod.     'The  Pyramids  of  Egypt  wam't  built 

!ijp  but  stone  by  stone.' 
Tuesday  morning — the  morning  fiied  for  the 
i  funeral  of  Anthony  Dare.     The  curious  portion 
of  Helstonleigh  wended  its  way  up  to  the  church- 
,  yard;  as  it  is  the  delight  of  the  curious  portion  of 
II  tonn  to  do.     What   a  sad  sight  it  was  I     That 
lark  object,  covered   by   its  pal!,  carried  by  the 
(  iiiendants,  followed  by  the  mourners — Mr.  Dara, 
I  ind  his  sons  Cyril  and   George.     He,  the  father, 
/  icnt  his  face    in  his  handkerchief,  as  he  walked 
i  lehind  the  coffin  to  the  grave.     Many  a  man  ii 
I  ilelstonleigh  enjoyed  •  higher  share  of  et-ieem 
j  4nd  respect  than  did  Lawyer   Dare;  but  not  one 
rasent,  in  that  crowded  churchyard,  but  frit  for 
im  in  his  bitter  gncf.     Not  one,  In  ut  tiupe,  but 
I   I'll  to  bis  beaits  core  the   fate  of  the  unhappy 
\nthony,  now,  for  weal  or  fur  woe,  to  aiis»«r 
I    ttlorc  hi/  Maker  for  his  life  on  earth.  That  same 
^  ^ay,  TuMdaj,  witoeued  ibe  return  ef  Sanad 


«6 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


Lynn  and  William  Halliburton.     They  arrived  in  ' 
the  eyenirig.  and  of  course   the  first   news  they 
were  greeted  with   was  the  ail-prevailing  topic! 
Fevr  thir:g<  caused  the  ever-composed  Quaker  to 
betray   much   surprise;  but    William    was    half- 
etunned  with   the  news.     Anthony    Dare  dead — j 
murdertd — buried  that  very  <iay,  and  Merbtsrt  iti 
pris'tu,  awaiting   his    trial    for  the  offence!     To! 
William  the  whole  affair  seemed  more  incredible  \ 
than  real.  \ 

•Sir,' he  said  to  his  master,  when,  the  morn-| 
ing  following  they  were   alone  together  in  tht 
counting-house  at  the  manufactory,  *do  you  be- 
lieve Herbert  Dare  can  be  guilty?' 

Mr.  Ashley  had  been  gazing  at  William,  lostiiJ, 
thought.  The  change  which  we  are  apt  to  see  ^ 
or  fancy  we  see,  in  a  near  friend,  after  a  few  ' 
weeks'  absence,  was  visibly  apparent  in  William  > 
He  had  improved  in  looks;  and  yet  those  looks.  < 
with  their  true  nobility,  both  of  form  and  Intel- ^ 
lect,  had  been  scarcely  capable  of  improvement  •', 
Nevertheless,  it  was  there,  and  Mr.  Ashley  had  ^ 
been  struck  with  it.  '] 

♦I  cannot  say,'  he  replied,  aroused  by  the  qucs  ;■ 
tion.  'The  facts  appear  most  conclusive  agains  ', 
him;  but  it  appears  incredible  that  he  should  &«  ^ 
have  lost  himself.  To  be  suspected  and  commit- ;! 
ted  on  such  a  charge  is  grief  enough,  witnoul  tht  ^j 
reality  of  the  guilt.'  < 

•So  it  is,'  acquiesced  William.  <; 

'We  feel  the  disgrace  very  keenly — as  all  must  ^ 
who  are  connected  with  the  Darea  in  ever  to  re- ) 
mote  a  degree.  I  feel  it,  William:  feel  it  as  a  ) 
blow.  Mn.  Ashley  being  the  cousin  of  Anthonj  | 
Dare.'  i 

•They  are  relatives  of  ours,  also;'  said  William  > 
in  a  low  tone.    •My  father  was  the  first  cousin  oi 
Mrs.  Dare.' 

Mr.  Ashley  looked  at  him  with  Burprise|  'Youi 
father  the  first  cousin  of  Mrs.  Dare !'  he  repealed 
•What  are  you  haying?' 

•Her  first  cousin,  sir.  You  have  heard  of  ol' 
Mr.  Cooper,  of  Birmingham  ?' 

•From  whom  the  Dares  inherited  their  money 
Well?' 

Mr.  Cooper  had  a  brother  and  a  sister.  Mrs 
Dare  was  the  daughter  of  the  brother;  the  sisie 
married  the  Reverend  William  Halliburton,  an 
my  father  was  their  sod.  Mrs.  Dare,  as  Juli 
Cooper,  and  my  father,  Edgar  Halliburton,  boll 
resided  together  for  some  time  under  their  uncle  '> 
roof  at  Birmingham.' 

A  moment's  pause,  and  then  Mr.  As^'ley  la; 
his  hand  on  William's  shouldtir.  'Then  Ih . 
brings  a  sort  of  relaiionsihip  between  us,  Wil 
liam.    1  shall  have  a  right  to  feel  pride  in  yi;. 


BOW.' 

William  laughad. 


But  fait  cbeek  Hushed  witL 


the  pleasure  of  a  more  earnest  feeling..  Hit 
greatest  earthly  wish  was  to  be  appreciated  by 
Mr.  Ashley. 

•How  is  it  I  never  heard  of  this  relationship 
before?'  cried  Mr.  Ashley.  'Was  it  purposely 
concealed  ?' 

•It  is  only  within  a  year  or  two  that  I  have 
known  of  it,'  replied  William.  'Frank  and  Gar 
are  not  aware  of  il  yet.  When  we  first  came  to 
Helstonleigh,  the  Dares  were  much  annoyed  at 
It;  and  they  made  it  known  to  my  mother  in  so 
unmistakable -a  manner,  that  she  resolved  to  drop 
all  mention  of  the  relationship;  she  would  have 
dropped  the  relationship  itself  if  she  could.  It 
kvas  natural,  perhaps,  that  they  should  feel  an- 
loyed,' continued  William,  seeking  to  apologise 
for  them.  'They  were  rich  and  gteut  in  the  eyeg 
>f  the  town;  we  were  poor  and  obscure.' 

Mr.  Ashley  was  casting  his  recollections  back- 
wards. A  certain  event,  which  had  always 
somewhat  puzzled  him,  was  becoming  clear  now. 
•William,  when  Anthony  Dare — acting,  as  he 
said,  for  me — put  that  seizure  in  your  house  for 
rent,  it  must  have  been  done  with  the  view  of 
1  riving  you  from  the  town?" 

•My  mother  says  she  has  always  thought  so, 
sir.' 

'I  see;  I  see.  Why,  William,  half  the  inher- 
itance,  enjoyed  by  the  Dares,  ought  justly  to 
have  been  your  father's  !' 

'We  shall  do  as  well  without  it,  in  the  long 
run,  sir,'  replied  William,  a  bright  smile  illumin- 
ing his  face.  'Hard  though  the  struggle  was  at 
the  beginning !' 

•Ay,  that  you  will !'  warmly  returned  Mr  Ash- 
ley. The  ways  of  Providence  are  wonderful  ! 
Yes,  William — and  I  know  you  have  been  taught 
lo  think  so — what  men  call  the  chances  of  the 
vorld,  are  all  God's  dealings.  Reflect  on  the 
(Mrcumstances  favouring  the  Dares;  reflect  on 
vour  drawbacks  and  impediments!  Tdey  had 
wealth,  popition,  a  lucrative  professioi.;  every 
hiii:r<  in  fact,  to  aid  them  on,  that  can  be  desired 
•y  a  family  in  the  middle  class  of  life;  while  you 
^lad  poverty,  cjjjscurity,  and  toil  to  contend  with. 
IJut  now,  look  at  what  they  are!  Mr.  Dare'i 
noney  is  dissipated;  he  is  overwhelmed  with  em- 
)arra!)Sment — I  know  it  to  be  the  fitct,  William; 
'Ut  this  is  for  your  ear  alone.  Folly,  rcckltss- 
less,  irrcligion  reign.in  his  house;  his  daughters 
are  lost  in  pretentious  vanity;  his  sons  in  somc- 
hing  worse.  In  a  few  years  ihey  will  have  gote 
!  >wii — down.  Yes, 'added  Mi.  Ashley,  pointing 
4'ith  his  finger  to  the  floor  of  his  counlii;g-house, 
lown  to  llie  dogs.  I  can  see  it  coming,  as  sure!y 
IS  that  the  sun  is  in  the  heavens.  You  and  they 
-ill  have  exchanged  positions,  William;  nay, you 
aod  yours,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  will  b« 


MltB.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROtfttLSA. 


4d 


in  a  far  higher  position  than  they  have  everoccu-  son  to  push,'  he  added,  an  espressioB  of  sft<lne«B 
pie(^  for  you  will  have  secured  the  favour  of  cruBting  hii  lace.  'All  1  can  do  for  roy  boy  it  to 
God,  and  the  approbaiion  of  all  good  men.'  ;  leave  him  at  ease  after  me.    Therefore  1  may,  if 

•That  Frank  and  Gar  will  attain  to  a  position    I  live,  push  you  in  hi»  slead.  Provided,  William, 
in  time,   I  should    be  worse  than  a  heathen  lo    you  continue  to  deserve  it. ' 
doubt,  looking  back  on  the  wonderful  manner  in        A  smile  parted  William's  lips.  That,  he  would 


which  we  have  been  helped  on,'  thoughtfully  ob- 
served William.     'For  myself  lam  not  sanguine.' 
'Do  you  never  cherish  dreams  on  your  own  ac- 
count?' inquired  Mr.   Ashley 


ever  strive  for,  heaven  helping  him. 

Mr.  Ashley  again  laid  his  hand  on  William, 
and  gazed  into  his  face.  'I  have  bad  such  an  ac  - 
count  of  you  from  Samuel  Lynn.     And  it  is  not 


♦If  I  do,  sir,  they  are  vague  ones.     'My  posi-  |  of^*""  ^^*  friend  launches  into  decided  praise.' 
tion  affords  no  scope  for  amt)ilion.'  '      'Oh,  have  you,  sir.''    returned    William,  with 

•I  don't  know  that,'  said  Mr.  AshJey.  'Would  \  •nimation.  •!  am  glad  he  was  pleased  with  me.' 
you  not  be  satisfied  to  become  one  of  the  great  '"«  "^^^  "O'-"  ^^an  pleased.  But  I  muM  not 
niaiuifaciurcrs  of  this  great  city.-'  he  contuiued, ,  fo''S«'  ^^ai  I  was  charjjed  with  a  message  from 
lauffhine.  Her.ry.     He    is  outrageous  at  your  not   having 

•Not  unless  I  could  be  one  of  the  greatest.  S"""  ^o  *''°» 'a^^  "'g''^-  I  shall  be  sending  him  to 
Such  as !     William  stopped.  France  one  of  these  da>8,  under  your  convoy, 

•Myself,  for  in*tance.'' quietly  put  in  Mr.  Ash-  ^  ^''''^'"-     ^^  ^^J  ^°  ^''^  good,  in  more  ways 


ley. 


than  one  '  , 

'Ves,  indeed.'  answered   William,   lifting  his  [     '^  «'•"  «""«  ^o  Henry  this  evening,  air.  I  must 

earnest  eyes   to   his  master.     'Were  it  possible  ;•"'[«  hmi,  though,  for  half  an  hour,  to  get  rou.d 

that  I  could  ever  attain  to  be  as  you  are,  sir,  in  ;   °    "*     ' 

all  lnin^s— in  ch«racter,  in   po!.ition,  in  the  esti-  |      'Your  conscie.nce  is  engaged,  I  see.    You  know 

malion  of  my  fellow-citizens— it  would  be  suffi-  ]  ''hat  Henry  accused  you  of,  the  last  time  )ou  left 

cicnl  ambition  for  me,  and  I  should  sit  down  con-    ^'™  'o  6^  to  East  & .' 

tent  '  'Of  being  enamoured  of  Charlotte,'  said  Wil. 

•Not  you,'  crifrd    Mr.    Ashley.      'You    would  )  liam.  laughing  in  answer  to  Mr   Ashley 's  smile. 

then  he  c  jsvi.ig  your  thoughts  to  the  serving  jonr  ^  •  I  will  come,  at  any  rate,  sir,  and  battle  the  other 

•aid  fellow-citizens  in  Parliament,  or  some  such  .  matter  out  with  Henry.' 

exulted    virion.     Man's    nature   is  to   soar,  you  | 

know,  it  cannot  rest.     As  soon   as  oneubjectof| 

atul)iliori  18  attained,  others  are  sought  after.'       1 
'So  far  as   1  go.  we    need   dot  discuss  it,' was 

Wiliam's   answer.     'There's  no   chance  of  my  I  CHAPTER  XIII. 

ever  becoming  even  a  »ecotid-rate  manufacturer; 

let  alone  whai  you  are,  sir.'  \  AiRoisKDHrART. 

'The  next  be.»t  ihmg  lo  being  myself,  would  '      ,    .  ,        ,  ,  .... 

...  ,,,,.•       .      '      If  it  were   a  hop«>Ie8S  lat-k  attempting  to  de- 

perhaps  be  thdt  ot  being  my  partner,  William.'  ...  ,  ,,  :       T 

'   _  .     .  .  scribe   the   constrrnation  of  H<  Iflonleigh  at  the 

The  voice  in    which   his  master  spoke  was  so     ,       ,      ,   .     .  ,.  -  ,  «.      > 

,,,.  ,  r  ,     ,.      I         a     .        ;  death  of  Anihoiy  Dare,  far  more  difficult  wou  d 

significant,    that    Wi  liam    felt    his  face  nuah  U)        ^  ,     .  ,  ,.   .  ,  ,,   , 

.,       .    .  ,  ,    .  j  It  be  t.i  depicture  that  ol   Anna  Lynn.     Believe 

crimson.      Mr    Ashley  noticed  it.  H     l     .        i.       .  .  j  i  u  , 

^    .    ,  ,     .      "^  „  Herbert  tfuilly,  Anna  did  not;  she  could  scareely 

'Did  that  ambition  ever  occur  to  you.''  .  ^   ,         ^     ,        ,     ,  ■  ^ 

.,       .  ™,.       .  .     ,     ■     ,  have    believed   that,  had   an   angel   come   down 

•No,  sir,  never.     That  honour  it  looked  upon     .         .  «•       ••      n  /•     •   j 

,  -     ^      ,  ^  '         from  heaven  to  aflnm  it.     Her  stale  of  mind  wat 

as  being  destined  for  Cyril  Dare.'  .    u  i  •  ..    «ii  j 

°  ■  not  t»  be  envied;  suspense,  sorrow,  anxiety  filled 

'Indeed  "calmly  repeated  Mr.  Ashley.  'If  you  j,,  causing  her  to  be  in  a  grievous  stnte  of  rest- 

couldWansfonn  your  nature  into  Cyril,  1  do  not  |e„„e8B.     SU  had  lo  conceal  this  from  the  eyrt 

say  but  ihai  it  mi^l.t  b-.'  ^,f  Patience;  from  the  eyes  of  all  the  world.  For 

'He  expecti  it  himself,  sir.'  one  thing,  she  could  not  get  at  the  correctpar- 

'  Would  be  be  a  worthy  associate  for  me,  think 


you.''  inquired  Mr.  Ashley,  bending  his  gaze  full 
on  William. 


ticnlara;  nenspaprrs  did  not  come  in  her  way, 
and  she  shrunk,  in  her  self-consciousnett,  from 
asking.     Her  whole  being — if  we  may   dare   to 


William  mude  no  reply,  perhapt  none  was  »ay  it  here— was  wrapt  in  Herbert  Dare;  father, 
expected,  for  his  master  resumed —  ;  frirnds,  home,  country;  she  could  have  sacrificed 

'I  do  not  recommend  you  to  indulge  that  par-  'hrm  all  to  save  him.  She  would  havi".  laid  down 
ticuiar  dream  of  ambition;  I  cannot  s^.e  suff]-  her  life  for  his.  Hi  r  looI  srns'w»«  di'-'or'id, 
ci'jnll)  far  io'o  iht  future,      it  i^  my  intentK.n   ti)     licr  judgm- rit     va-yt'L  she   sbw   p.i««ni(j  cvcDtt. 

putb  you  loaewiitt  ea  io  lb«  w«rid.    I  iiart  bo  '  oet  wttb  tht  eyii  of  ditpaMi*a<it«  f»ct,  or  with 


MrRS.  HALLIBURTON 'a  TROUBLBflL 


any  fact  at  all,  but  through  the  unhealthy  tinge  ;     'It  is  easy  to  assert  a  thing,  Anna.  But  the  law 

of  fond,  blind  prejudice.     The  blow   had  nearly    requires  proof.' 

crushed   her;  ihe  dread  suspense  was  wearying;;      'Proof.'     That  he  must  declare  to  them  where 

her  heart.     She  seem«»d  no  longer  ihe  same  care-  ^  he  had  been  .'' 

less  child  as  befure;  in  a  few  hours  she  had  ovt^r-  j     'Undoubtedly.      And  corroborative  proof  must 

stepped  the  barrier  of  girlish  timidity,  and  had  iaU- be  given.' 

gained  the  experience  which  is  bought  with  sor-  \     <But  what  sort  of  proof.''    I  do  not  understand 

row.  ! their  laws.' 

On  the  evening  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  |  'Suppose  Herbert  Dare  asserted  that  he  had 
just  before  William  went  out  to  iteep  his  ap- ; spent  tnose  hours  with  me,  for  instance;  then  I 
pointment  with  Henry  Ashley,  he  saw  from  the  ',  must  go  forward  on  the  trial  and  confirm  his  as- 
window  Anna,  in  his  mother's  garden,  bending  .sertion.  Also  any  other  witnesses  who  may  have 
over  the  flowers,  and  glancing  at  himself.  Glanc-  iseen  him  with  me,  if  there  were  aiy.  It  would 
ing,  as  it  struck  William,  with  a  strangely  wist-  ;  be  estab'ishing  what  is  called  an  alibi.' 
ful  expression.     He  went  out  to  her.  S      'And  would   they   acquit  him  then .'    Suppose 

•'Tending  the  flowers,  Anria.''  t'lere  were  only  one  witness  to  speak  forbim? 

She  turned  to  him,  her  fair  young  face  utterl\  ;  Would  one  be  sufficient.'' 
colourless      'I  have  been  so  wanting  to  see  thee   {      'Certainly.      Provided   the  witness  were  trust- 
"William!     I  came  here,  hoping  thee  would  comt     worthy.' 

out.     At  dinner  time  I  was  here,  and  thee  on  I  >  ',      'If  a  witness   went   forward  and  declared  it 
nodded  to  me  from  the  window.     I  did  not  like  It  ,  now,  would  they  release  him  ." 
beckon  to  thee.'  'Impossible      He  is  committed  to  take  his  trial 

'I   am   sorry  to    have   been   so   stupid,  Anna,    at  the  assizes,  and  he  cannot  be  released  before- 
Whatisit.''  i  oand      It  is  exceedingly  unwise  of  him  not  to  de- 

•Thee   hast  heard   what   has   happened — thai  |  clare  where  he  was  that  evening — if  he  can  do 
dreadful  thing!     Hast  thee  heard  it  all .''  |so.' 

•1  believe  .so.     All  thai  is  known.'  'Where  do  the  public  think  he  was.'    What  do 

•I  want  thee  to  tell  it  me.     Patience  won't  twll.  i  they  say  ?' 
of  It;    Hester  only  shakes   her  head;  and  I  an         '1  am  afraid  the   public,   Anna,  mostly  think 


afraid  to  a>k  Gar.     1  hn  tell  it  to  me  ' 

•It  would  not  do  you  good  to  know  ii,  Anna,' In 
gravely  said.     'Belter  try  and  not  think ' 

'William,  hush  thee  I'she  feveri-hly  exclaimed 

'Thee  knew  lliere  was  a a  friendship  bct«tei 

me  and  hm. .    If  1  cannot  learn  all  there  is  to  b 
learnt,  I  shall  die.' 

William  look    '  down  at  the  changing  cheek 
the  eyes  full  of  pain,  the  trembing  hands,  cla>pt 
in  their  eagerness      It  might  be  bett»-r  to  telJ  he. 
than  to  leave  her  in  this  stale  of  su-pense. 

William,  there  is  nobody  in  the  wide  worh 
that  knows  he  cared  fir  me,  but  thee,'  she  ini- 
ploriHf^ly  resumed.  'Thee  must  tell  me;  the. 
must  tell  me  !'  ^' 


that  he  was  not  outany  where.  At  any  rate, alter 
eleven  or  half-past.' 

'Then  they  are  very  cruel !'  she  exclaimed  in 
i  tone  of  pas- ion.     'Do  they  al  think  thair' 

'There  may  be  a  few  who  judge  that  it  was  as 
e  sa\s;  tfiat  he  was  really  away,  and  is,  conse- 
inenlly,  innocent.' 

'And  where  do  they  think  he  was?'  eagerly  re- 
eated  Ai.na  again.  'Do  they  suspect  any  place 
A  here  he  might  have  been?' 

William  made  no  reply.  ^iW^^^  "ot  at  all  ex- 
peditnt  to  impart  to  her  all  the  gossip  or  surmises 
<f  the  town.  But  his  silence  seemed  to  agitate 
her  worse  than  any  reply  could  have  done.  She 
turned  to  tijm,  shaking  with  emotion,  the  tears 
-ireamingdown  her  face. 


'You  mean  _that  you  want  to  hear  the  particu 
lars  of— of  what  took  place  on  Tnursday  nigl.i-  |      '(>h,  Wil  iam,  tell  me  what  is  thought!     Tell 

'Yes.    All.    Then,  and  since.    1  have  liut  bean       ne,  I  implore  thee!     Thee  cannot   havf  me  in 
snatches  of -the  wicked  taie.'  j  this  trouble.     Where  is  it  thought  he  was." 

He  obeyed  her;  teliin^  her  all   the  necessarv  !      He  took  her  hands;  he  bent   over  her  as  ten 
f  .CIS,  suppressing  ^ome  few  of  the  details.      Sin  |  derly  as  any  brother  could  have  done;  he  read  all 
leaned   against  the  garden-gate,  listening  in  si  \  too  surely  how  opposite  to  the  truih  had  been  her 
lence.her  face  turned  from  him,  looking  ihiougl  |  lormer  assertion  to  him— that  she  did  not  care  for 


the  wooden  bars  into  the  field 

'Why  do  they  not  believe  him?'  was  her  firs' 
comment,  spoken  sharply  and  abruptly.    'Hesaj 
he  was  not  near  the  hou.se   al  the  time  t  e  aci 


Herbert  Dare. 

'Anna,  child,  you  must  not  agitate  yourse]£.in 
this  way;  there  is  i:o  cause  for  it  1  assuie  you 
I  d"  not  know  wh«>re  it  is  thought  Herbeit  Dare 


must  have  been  done:  why  do  they  not  btlitvi  S  uay  have  been  that  ni.^ht;  neither,  so  lar  as  can 
bim*''  Ibe  learnt,  does  anybody  else  know.    It  is  th«{ 


J(/A^'*^^'*>-*^*^ 


MRS.  HALLIBTTRTON'S  TROUBLES. 


51 


chief  point— where  he  was — that  is  puizling  the  ;  Mrs.  Bufflfe  kept  her  handi  still  in  the  soapsuds, 
town.'  j  and  projecied  her   hot  face  over  the  tub  to  an- 

She  laid  her  head   down   on   the  gale  again,  ,  swer. 
closing  her  eyes,  as  in  very  weariness.  William's  ;      'Matty,  tell  Mary  Ann  Tyrrett  as  the  promised 
heart  ached  for  her.  J  faithful  lo  bring  me  bomeihing  nff  her  score  this 

'He  may  nol  be  guilty,  Anna,'  was  all  the  con-  >  week,  but  I've  not  seen  the  colour  of  it  yet.* 
solatioii  he  could  fini  to  offer,  i^  >^''*^-**--  'She  says  as  it  s  to  put  to  his  head,' called  back 

'jVay  not    be    guilty!'   she  echoed,  in  a  tone  of ;  Matty,  alluding  to   the    present  demand.     'He's 
pain.     iHe  is  nol  guilty.     William,  1  tell  thee  he  ^  bad  abed,  and  have  fainted  right  off.' 
is  not.     Dost  thee  think  1  would  defend  him  if  J      'Serve  liim  right,' responded  Mrs.  Buffle.  'You 
he  could  do  so  wicked  a  thing.''  '  may  give  her  the  vinegar,  Matty.    Tell  her  as  it's 

He  did  not  dispute  the  point  with  her;  he  did  i  a  penny  farthing.  1  heered  he  had  been  drinking 
not  tell  her  that  her  assumprion  of  his  innocence  \  8ga'"»'  she  added  to  herself  and  the  washing-tub, 
was  inconsistent  with  facts.  Presently  Anna  *^"^ '^'"^  ^''•'^^'f  ^"W"  in  the  wet  road  the  night 
resumed.  |  afore  last,  and  was   found   there  in  the  morn- 

*  »>  hy  must  he  stop  in  gnal  till  the  trial .'  There  \  '"S-' 
was  that  man  who  stole  the  skins  from  Thomas  ^      Later  in   the  day  it   happened   that  William 
Ashley — they  let  him   out,  when   he  was  token,  ■  Halliburton   was    jassiing   thiough   Honey  Fair, 
until  the  sessions  came  on,  and  then  he  went  up    2i"<l  '"^t  Char  oite  East      She  slopped  him. 
for  trial.'  \     'Have  you  heard,  sir,   that  Tyrieit  isdjing.'* 

'That  man  was  out  on  bail.     But  they  do  not  •  *^'*^  asked, 
take  bail  in  cases  so  grave  as  this  '  \     'Tyirett  dying  !' repeated  William,  in  atpaze> 

'I  mny  lint  stay   longer.     There's  He-ter  com- '  "^^"^      'Who  says  he  is  .>' 


ing  t'>  call  me  in.  I  rely  upon  thee  to  telt  me 
anything  fresh  tliat  may  aii^e,'  she  said,  lifting 
her  beseeching  eyes  ti  his. 

'One  wonl,  Anna,  before  you  go.     And  jet  I 


'The  doctor  sa^s  it,.l  believe,  sir.  I  must  say 
he  looks  like  it.  Mary  Ann  sent  for  me,  and  I 
have  been  down  to  see  him.' 

'Why,    what  can    be   the    matter  with   him.'' 


see  how  wor^e  than  useless  it  is  to  say  it  to  you  \  "*'*'*'^  William;  'he  was   at  work  the  day  before 

now.     You  mu>t  fotgel  Herbert  Dare.'  ,  jesteiday.' 

•I  ^ha.l  forget  him,  William,  when   I  cease  to  '.      'H--  was  at  work,  sir.  but  be  could  not  speak, 

have  memory,"  she  vvhi-pered.     'Never  before   |  they  tell  me.  fur  that  illness  that  has  been  hang- 
[  Thee  wilt  keep  my  counsel  ':'  \  '"S  ^^oni  him   so  long,  and  settling  on  his  chest. 

I     'Truly  and  faithfully.'  I  "T''*^  "'K^'^  "f^^r  'saving  work,  ioMead  of  going 

I      'Fare  thee  well.  William;  I  have  no  friend  but '  ^°"'®  ^'"^  geiting  a  basin  of  gruel,  or  something 
llj^gg  »  ;  of  that,  be  went  to  the  Horned  Ram,  and  diank 

!      She  ra*n  swiftly  into  their  o^n  premises.     Wil- ;  ^^^[^  »'^"  *^«  couldn't  keep  upon  his  legs.' 

liam  turned  to    pursue  his  way  to  Mr.  Ashley's, 

the  thought  of  Henry  Ashley's  misplaced  atiach- 


'  With  his  chest  in  that  stale  .'' 

'And  that  was   nol  the  worst,'  resumed  Char- 


ment  lying  on  his  mind  like  an  incubus. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


OKE   DTIKO   IK   HONET    FAIR. 


\  loite.  'It  had  been  a  wet  day,  if  you  remember, 
i  sir,  and  he  somehow  strayed  into  Oxlip  Lane, 
j  and  fell  down  there,  and  lay  till  morning.  W  bat 
with  the  drink,  and  what  with  the  exposure  to 
the  wet,  his  chest  got  dangerously  inflamed,  and 
!  DOW  the  doctor  says  he  has  not  many  hours  to 
J  live. 

!     '1  am  sorrj  to  hear  it,'  cried  William.    'I»  b» 
I  sensible.'* 

f      'Too  sensible,  sir,  in  one  sense,'  rep  ied  Char- 
Mas.  BvrrLE  stood    in   what  she   called   her    loHe.    'The  remor.o  upon  him  u  dreadful.     He 
•back'us,'  practically  superintending  a  periodical    jg  .aying  that  if  he  had  not  misspent  his  life,  be 
wash.     The  day  was  hot,  and  the  steam  was  hot,    m,ght  have  died    a   good   man,  instead  of  a  bad 
and  as  Mrs.   Buffle   rubbed    away,  she  began  to    one.' 

think  she  should  never  be  cool  again.  William   pas-ed  on,   much    concerned    at  the 

'Missis,'  shrieked  out  a  young  Toice  from  the  news.  His  way  led  him  past  Ben  Tyrrell's  lodg. 
precincts  of  the  shop.  'Ben  Tyrrell's  wife  says  ings,  and  he  turned  in.  .Mar)  Ann  »ai  kobbiDK 
will  you  let  her  have  a  gill  o'  vinegar.'  Be  1  to  and  wailmg,  in  the  midsl  of  as  many  curious  and 
serve  it?'  condoling  neighbours  as   the  kitclieo  would  con- 

The  words  came  from  the  small  damsel  who  tain.  All  w.  re  in  full  gossip— as  might  be  cx- 
wu  bad  ID  to  bdp  OD  cleaaiagaavi  wasbiogdayB.    pected.    Mrs.  Cross  bad  taken  boiu*  taa  tbi«« 


59 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLJW. 


little  children,  by  way  of   keeping    the  place  : 

quiet;  and  the  .-iclf  maa  was   lying  in  the  room  :  get  better.     You  are 

above*  surrounded  by  several  of  his  fellow-work-  j  chest,  and ' 

men,  who  had  heard  of  his  critical  state. 

Som«  of  the  women  sidled  off  when  William 
entered,  rather  ashamed  of  being  caught  ciiatter- 
ing  vehemently.  It  was  remarkable  the  defer- 
ence that  was  paid  him,  and  from  no  assumption 
of  his  own — indeed,  the  absence  of  assumption 
may  have  partially  accounted  f',r  it.  But, 
though  ever  courteous   and   pleasant  with  them 


*I  hope  not,'  said  William.    •!  hope  you  wiU 
to  bare  a  blister  on  your 


'?Jo  he  ain't,  sir,'  interrupted  one  of  the  men. 
'Darwin  won't  send  it.' 

•Oh,  yes  he  will,  if  he  is  properly  asked.  They 
are  gone  again  to  him.  Are  you  in  much  pain, 
T-jrrett?'  t  ;- 

'I'm  in  a  agony  of  pain  here,  sir,'  pointing  to 
his  chest.  'But  that  am't  nothing  to  my  in'ard. 
pain,    my    pain    of  mine.      Oh,  iMr.    HaUibur- 


lil,  he  was  a  thorough  gentleman;  and  the  work-   ton,  you're  good,  sir;  you  haven't  got   nothing 


ing  class  are  keen  di^tinguishcrs 

'Why,  Mrs  Tjrreit,  this  is  sad  news,' he  said 
•Is  your  husband  to  ill  ?' 
'   'Oh,  he  must  die,  he  must  die,  sir!'  she  an- 


to  reproach  yourself  with;  can't  you  do  no- 
thing for  me.'  I'm  a-going  into  the  sight  of  my 
,  Maker;  and  he's  angry  with  me  !' 

In  truth,  William  knew  not  what  to  answer. 


swered,  in  a  frantic  tone.  '  Uncomfortabiy  as  ■  Tyrrett's  voice  was  as  one  wai)  of  anguish;  and 
they  had  lived  together,  the  m.<n  was  sinl  her '^  his  hands  were  stretched  out  bi  se»tchingly. 
husband,  and  there's  no  doubt  she  was  leeling  ;  'Charlotte  East  were  here  just  now,  and  she 
the  present  crisis;  was  shrinking  with  dread  from /told  me  to  go  to  Cnrist — that  he  weie  m«-rcif»l 
the  future.  A  widow  with  three  young  children,^  and  forgiving  But  how  be  I  to  go  to  him?  If  I 
and  the  workhou->e  for  an  asylum!  U  was  the  ; try,  sir,  I  can't,  for  there's  my  past  life  a-'ising 
prospect  before  her.  'He  must  die  anyways;  but;; up  afore  me.  i  have  been  a  had  roan;  I  have 
he  might  have   lasted  a  few  hours   longer,  if  I  'never  once  in  all  mj  life  tried  to  please  God.' 

The  words  echoed   through  me  stillness  of  the 
room;  echoed   with  a   sound    ominous'y   awful. 


could  have  got  what  the  doctor  ordered. 
William  did  not  understand. 


•It  was  a  blister  and  some  physic,  sir,' ex- 'J^evtr  onee  to  have  tned  to  pUase  God!  Through- 
plained  one  of  the  women  'The  doctor  wrote  ',oui  a  whole  life,  and  throughout  all  its  blessings  ! 
it  on  a  paper,  and  said  it  was  to  be  took  to  the  [  'l  have  never  thought  of  God,'  he  continued  to 
nearest  druggist's.  But  when  they  got  it  there,  \  reiterate  'J  have  never  cared  lor  Him,  or  tried 
Darwin  said  he  couldn't  trust  the  Tyrretts.  and  j  to  please  Him,  or  done  the  least  thing  for  Him. 
the  money   if  they  wanted  the  ^  And  now  I'm  a-going  to  face  his  wrath,  and  I 


they  must  send 
things.' 


;  can 't  h«-lp  myself !     S<im  Little,  wipe  my  brow, 


It  wai  not  Mr.  Parry,  then,  who  was  called;  will  ye.'' 
•    J,  '      'You  may  be  spared  yet,'  said   William;  'you 

'It  were  a  strange  doctor,  sir.  as  wai  fetched,  j"* J-  ''1^"<1-^   And  your  future  life  must  alone 
There  was   Tyrrett'g   last  bout  of  ilness  owing  •/«'' *^®  P**^ 

for  to  Mr.  Parry,  and  so  they  didn't  like  to  send  '^  *^>'»n'^  ^e  spared,  sir;  I  feel  that  the  world's 
for  him.  As  to  them  druggists,  tbey  be  some  of  f  »"  "P  "^i^h  me,'  was  the  rtjoi.der.  'I'm  a-going 
'em  a  cross-grained  set.  unless  you  goes  with  the',  <""'•  »"*i  there's  nobody  to  give  me  a  word  of 
money  in  your  hand.'  jcomfurt!    Can't  ^ou,    sir.'    I'm    a-going  away, 

William  asked  to  see  the  prescription.     It  was  ; 

produced,  and  he  read  its  contents — which  he  was  : 

as  capable  of  doing  and  understanding  as  the  best 

physician  in  Helstonleigh.     He  tore  a  leaf  from  / 

bis  pocket-book,  wro'e  a  few  words  on  ii  in  pen 

cil.  folded  it  with  the   prescription,  and  desired  L  Jltl^~'Zl''i 
'.,,.,  z  lortn   lyrreti,  i 
one  of  the   women   to  take   it  to  the  chemist's^,    j  ..l    .• 

,       .  ,  <  had  the  time  ci 

aeain.     He  then  went  up  to  the  sick  room.  ■      W  11"  h 

Tyrrett  wai  lying  on  a  flock  mattress,  on  an  '^ience  from  the  arguFng  of  topics  so  momentous, 
ugly  bedstead  of  brown  wood,  the  four  posts  ;^„  not  ^q^g^Uo  ^^e  emeigency.  Who  was.'  He 
•ticking  up  naked.  A  blanket  and  a  checked  |^,d  „hat  he  could;  and  thai  was  to  despatch  a 
blue  cotton  quilt  covered  him.  His  breathing  ■  ^e-ssage  for  a  clergyman,  who  answered  the  lum- 
terribly  laboured,  his  face  painfully  anxious.  J  m^n,  ^jth  ,ppcd. 


'/  and  God's  angry  with  me  !' 

William  leaned  over  him.     'I  can  but  say  as 
't  Charlotte  East  did,'  he  whispered.    'Try  and  find 
;,your  Saviour.     There  is  mercy  with  him  at  the 
eleventh  hour.' 

i  have  not  got  the  time  to  find   him,'  breathed 
in  an  agony.     1  might  find  him  if  I 
ive  me;  but  I  have  not  got  it.' 
William,  shrinking  in    his  youth  and  incxpe- 


William  approached  him.  bending  his  bead,  that^ 
it  might  not  strike  against  the  ceiling 


The  blister  also  came,  and  the  medicine  that 
^bad  been  prescribed      William  went  home,  hop- 


•I'm  a-going,  sir !'  cried  the  man,  in  a  tone  as^  ing  all  might  prore  as  a  healing  balm  to  the  sick 
uxi«Hi  M  hit  Um;  *l'm  a'^ouis  at  lut.*  ;  man. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


A  fallacious  hope.  Tyrrett  died  the  following  )  'Ay,  I  do  fear  it  was  so,' replied  William.  'Poor 
morning.  When  William  went  round  on  his  mis- 'Tyrrett's  existence  was  divided  into  three  pha- 
sion  of  inquiry,  which  he  did  early,  he  found  j  ses — working,  drinking,  quarrelling;  dissatisfa'c' 
him  dead.  Some  of  the  men,  whom  he  had  seen  :  tion  attending  all.  I  fear  a  great  many  more  ia 
with  Tyrrett  the  previous  night,  were  assembled  '<  Honey  Fair  could  say  the  same.* 
in  the  kitchen.  ?     The   men's  consciences  were   pricking  them; 

•He  is  but  just  gone,  sir,'  they  said.  'The  wo- ■  some  of  them  began  to  stand  in  an  uncomfortable 
men  be  up  with  him  now.  They  have  took  his  fashion  on  one  leg.  TArytippled  //let/ quarrelled; 
wife  round  a-schreeching  to  her  mother's.  He  s  they /lod  been  known  to  administer  personal  cor- 
died  with  that  there  blister  on  his  chest.' 

'Did  he  die  peacefully?'  was   Wiiliam's  ques- 
tion. 


rection  to  their  wives  on  provocation. 

'Times   upon   times   I   asked  Tyrrett  to  come 
round  in  an  evt-ning  to  Robert  Ea&t's,'  continued 

•Awful  hard,  sir,  toward  the  la^t;  a-moaning,  i  William.  'He  never  did  come.  But  1  ran  tell 
and  a-calling,  and  a-cienching  of  his"  hands  m  '  you  this,  my  men;  had  he  taken  to  pa»s  his  eve* 
mortal  pain.  Hi»  lister,  she  come  round — she'*  nings  there  twelve  months  ago,  when  the  society 
a  hard  one,  is  that  l.iza  Tyrrett — .Tfid  she  set  on 

at  the  wife,  a-«aying  it  was  her  fault  that  he'd    have  been  a  hale  man  now,  instead  of  lying  there 
took  to  go  out  a  driiikini^.     That  ihcre  pardon!; dead  ' 
couldn't    do    nothing    with   him,' conclttded  the; 
speaker   lowering  his  v«.ice.  I 

Willum's  breaih  stiiod -till.     'No!'  I 

The  man  shook  his  head.  'Tyrrt-lt  weren't  in/  <'U>si«n,  as  you  don't  seem  to  like  the  name.  Had 
a  frame  1/ ii.ihd  fi  r  it,  sir.  He  kep' crying  oui  Tjrrell  tak»*n  to  I. ke  rational  evenings,  instead  of 
a.>  he  hud  led  a  ill  life,  and  never  thought  of  God  ,  public-houses,  it  would  have  made  a  wonderful 
— a.  d  iheiu  was  his  last  words,  li  ain't  happy,  difference  in  his  mode  of  thought,  and  the  dider- 
sir  to  die  like  that.  It  have  quite  cowed  down  ence  in  conduct  would  have  followed  Look  at 
u*  as  wa^  with  him:  one  g«  is  a-ihinking,sir,  what  his  father  in-fiiw.  Cross.  He  was  living  without 
sort  «>f  a  place  it  may  be,  t'other  hide,  wliere he  s   hope  or  aim,  at  loggerhends  with  his  wife  and 


-as  they  call  it— was  first  formed  he  might 
ve  been  a  hale  man  now,  instead  of  lying  there 
ad  ' 

Do  you  mean  as  he'd  have  growed  religious, 
?» 

'I  lell  you  we  will  put  religion  out  of  the  dig- 


a  gone  to.' 


;  with  ihe  world,  and  rather  given  to  wish  himself 


William  lifted  his  head,  a  sort  of  eager  bope;<lead.  All  that's  over.  Do  you  think  1  should 
on  his  countenance,  speaking  cheerily.  'Could  '''f«  t<^  S^  about  with  a  dirty  face  and  holes  in  my 
you  not  let  poor  Tjrrett's  death  act  as  a  warnink;  <^"at? 
toy.u.''  The  men 

Ttiere   was   a   dead  silence.     Five  men  were; 


lughed.     They  thought  not. 
'Cross  used  to.      But  you  see  nothing  of  that 
present;  every  one  of  them  leading  careless  lives.    """'■     '^«*'y  *'^^^^  "s^d  to      Many  do.' 


Somehow  they  they  did  not  much  like  to  hear  of 
•warning,'  although  the  present  moment  was  one 
of  unuMial  seriousness 

'Religion  is  so  dreadful  dull  and  gloomy,  sir.' 
'Religion  dull   and  gloomy  !' echoed   William,  j 


RnthiT  coiLscience-slricken  again,  the  men  tried 
j  to  hide   their  elbows.      'It's  true  enough, 'said 
one.     'Cross,  and  some  more  of  'em,  be  a-geiting 
'  smart.' 

'Smart  inside  as   well  as  out,' said  William. 


'Well,  perhaps  .ome   people  do  make  a  gloomy  ;''^^"'y  are  acquirit,g  self-respect;  one  of  the  best 
affair  of  it;  but  then  1  don't  think  theirs  can  be^''"^"^'*'  ^  ■"""  *=""  ^'"^-     "^^^^j'**  "»'  ^'^  ^c^n  in 


the  right  religion.  1  do  not  believe  people  weri. 
gent  into  the  world  lo^e  gloomy;  time  enough  for 
that  when  troubles  come.' 

'What  it  religion  .''  asked  one  of  the  men. 

•It  is  a  sort  of  thing  that's  a  great  deal  better 
to  be  felt  than  talked  of,'  answered  William.     'I 


the  street  now  in  rags,  or  the  worse  for  drink,  or 
in  any  other  degrading  position;  no,  not  if  you 
bribed  them  with  gold.  The  coming  round  to 
East's  has  done  that  for  them.  Thej  are  beginning 
to  see  that  it's  just  as  well  to  lead  pleasant  lives 
hercN  as  unpleasant  ones.  In  a  short  while  Cross 
will  bo  gathering  furniture  about  him  again,  lo- 


am no  parson,  and  cannot  pretend  to  enlighten    wards   setting  up   the   home   he  lost.     He— and 
you.      Wc  might  never  come  to  an  understanding  ,  many  more— will  also,  as  I  truly  believe,  be  be- 
over  it,»«re  we  to  discuss  it  all  day  long.     T  ginning  to  set  up  furniture  of  another  sort.' 
would  rather  talk  to  you  of  life,  and  its  practical ;     'What  sort's  that,  sir.'' 

duties.'   ;  'The  furniture  that  will  stand  him  in  nectflfor 

•Tyrrett  said  as  he  liad  never  paid  heed  to  any  the  next  life;  the  life  that  Tyrrett  has  now  cn- 
of  his  duties.  It  were  hi»  cry  over  and  over  tered  upon,' replied  William,  i^^^eeper  tone, 
again,  sir,  in  the  night.  He  said  he  had  drunk,  -It  is  a  life  that  must  come,  you^^^;  oar  little 
and  swore,  and  beat  his  wife,^Dd  done  just  what  span  of  time  here,  in  comparison  with  eternity, 
be  oHgbU't  loha' done.'  >u  but  m  a  tea-cup  of  water  to  the  p-Mt  river  that 


54 


MRS,  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


runs  through  the  town;  and  it  is  as  well  to  be  pre-;  puffs  it  out  again.  And  then  again— there 'd  be 
pared  for  it.  Now,  the  next  five  1  am  going  to  ;  the  passing  through  the  shop,  obslricting  of  tb« 
get  round  to  Easts 's,  are  you.'  j  custom.' 

'Us,  sir:'  ^     'Of  course  there  would,'  assented  William. 

•Every  one  of  you:  although  I  believe  you  have  ^  'We  must  try  for  that  failure  in  the  rear,  after 
been  in  the  habit  of  complimenting  your  friends,  i  all.' 
whogolhere,  with  the  title  of 'milksops.'  I  want| 
to  take  you   this  evening.     If  you  don't  like  it, ^ 

you  know  you  need  not  repeat  the  visit.  You  will^  — '■ ♦♦♦— — 

come  to  oblige  me,  won't  you  ?'  / 

They  said  they  would.  And  William  went  out  j 
satisfied,  though  he  hardly  knew  how  Robert  East  / 
would  manage  to  stow  the  new  comers.  Not ', 
many  steps  from  the  door  he  encountered  Mrs.  ( 
Bufile.     She  stopped  him  to  talk  of  Tyrrett.         \ 


CHAPTER  XV. 


FRUITS    COMING    HOME   TO    THE   DAREI. 


'Better  that  he  had  spent  his  loose  time  at 
East's,  nor  at  the  publics,'  remarked  that  lady. 

•It  is  the  very  thing  we  have  been  saying,' 
answered  William.  *I  wish  we  could  get  all 
Honey  Fair  there  ;  though,  indeed,  there's  no 
room  for  more  than  we  have  now.  1  cast  a  long- 
ing eye  sometimes  to  that  building  at  the  back, 
which  they  say  was  built  for  a  Mormon  strong- 
hold, and  has  never  been  fitted  up,  owing  to  a  dis- 
pute among  themselves  about  the  number  of  wives 
each  elder  might  appropriate  to  his  own  share. 


The  Pyramids  of  Egypt  grew,  in  the  courie  of 
time  and  by  dint  of  dense  labour,  into  pyramids 
— as  was  oracularly  remarked  by  Sergeant 
Delves;  but  that  official's  exeitions,  labour  ai 
hard  as  he  would,  grew  into  noihing — when  ap- 
plied to  the  cause  to  which  he  had  compared  the 
p>ramid8.  All  the  inquiry,  ail  the  searching 
brought  to  bear  upon  it  by  him  and  hit  co-adhe- 
rents, d;d  not  bring  to  light  aught  of  Herbert 
Dare's  nioveuients  on  that  fatal  night  Where 
he  had  passed  the  hours  remained  an  impenetra- 
ble mjstery;  and  the  sergeant  had  to  coiifesis  him- 


' Disgraceful,  greedy  pollagists!'  struck  in  Mrs 
Buffl-,  apostrophising  the  Mormon  elders.  'One^^*'"'  ^o''^"-  H*^  '^a'"*^'  "o^  unnaturally,  to  the 
husband  is  enough  to  have  at  one's  fireside,  good-j  conclusion  that  Herbert  Dare  was  not  anywhere, 
ness  knows,  without  being  worried  with  'em  un-| «»  ^^'  «»  ^^e  outer  wor.d  w:.s  concerned-thai  he 
-.    .,    .  >  /  had  been  at  home,  committinn  « he  mischief.     A 

„     '  .        ,  ^,  ..       ,      ••  1XTU-  „    i».._u     conclusion  which  the  sergeant  had  drawn   in  the 

•That  IS  not  the  question,' said  Wilham,  laugh-;  .        ^   ■.  .     .  u 

y    .     ,  u      ti.,..'.  '  first  onset,  and   it  had  never  been  shaken,     ^ev- 

ine-    'It  IS.  how  many  wives  are  enough.     How-/       ,    ,         .  ..  .      , 

I        u  ■  M  „o«  fv,„  k,,;i,(;,wr     Pu.fTuiil ;  ♦^r'^heless,  it  was  his  duty  to  put  all   the  skill  and 

ever,  I  wish  we  could  get  the  builoH)g.    f^astwill^        -      «    ,     ,       ,       ,.       ^ 

have  to  hold  the  gathering  in  his  garden  soon.'      ;  ^'^^^  «f  '^^  ^°<==»'  Po'"^«  <^°'-<^«  '"t°  ««'*"»'  «"d 

'There  s  no  denying  that  it  have  worked  good  ;  ^^^^  ^'''^^  '"^"i"-'^*  ^•^^^  '"^de.  Every  house  of 
in  Honey  Fair,' acknowledged  Mrs.  Buffle.  Mt  i '■"^*='-'«'"'n«"t '"  '^>«  ^''y-  «<"  whatever  nature- 
i.n't  alone  the  men  that  have  growed  more  re-i  ^^-^^f'^"-  ^""ight  be  a  billiard  room,  or  an  oys- 
spectable,  them  as  have  took  to  go,  but  their  ■  ^"■^^'"P;  ^^''^'her  it  might  be  a  grand  hotel,  or 
wives  too.  You  see,  sir,  in  silting  at  the  public-;  ^^  obs'="''e  public-house-was  visited  and  keenly 
houses,  it  wasn't  only  that  they  drank  themselves  ;q"«8^i"ned;  but  nobody  would  acknowledge  to 
quarrelsome,  but  they  spent  their  money.  Now  ;  ^'^vi'-g  seen  Herbert  Dare  on  the  particular  eve- 
their  tempers  is  saved,  and  their  money 'seaved.^  "'"S-  1°  s^iort,  no  trace  of  him  could  be  un- 
The   wives,  they  see  the  benefit,  and  in  course ;  ®^'"^"*"; 

they  try  to  be  better  behaved  theirselves.  Not'  'Just  as  much  out  as  I  was,' said  the  sergeant 
but  what  there's  plenty  of  room  for  improvement;  to  himself.  And  Helstonleigh  held  to  the  same 
still,'  added  Mrs.  Buffle,  in  a  tone  of  patronage.  /  conviction. 

•It  will  come  in  time,'  said  William.  'What!  Pomeranian  Knoll  was  desolate;  with  a  deso- 
we  must  do  now,  is  to  look  out  for  a  larger  ( lation  it  had  never  expected  to  fall  upon  it  A 
foom'  shattering  blow  had  been   struck  Mr.  and  Mrs. 

'One  with  a  chimbley  in  it,  as  '11  draw.''  sug-  Dare.  To  lose  their  eldest  son  in  so  terrible  a 
zested  Mrs.  Bufiie.  •  {  manner,  seemed,  of  itself,  enough  of  agony  for  a 

'Oh,  ves.  What  would  they  do  without  fire  on  i  whole  lifetime.  Whatever  may  have  been  his 
a  winter's  night?  The  great  point  is,  to  have  !  faults — and  Helstonleigh  knew  that  he  was  some- 
things thoroughly  comfortable.'  !  what  rich  in  fauits— he  was  dear  to  them;  dearer 

'If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  chimbley,  I  might  |  than  her  other  children  to  Mrs.  Dare.  Herbert 
have  offered  ipur  big  garret,  sir.  But  it's  the  j  had  remarked,  in  conversing  with  Anna  Lynn, 
crankiest  thing  ever  built,  is  that  chimbley;  the  '  that  Anthony  was  his  mother's  favourite.  It  was 
mioute  »  handful  of  fire's  lighted,  the  smoke  1  lo;  she  had  loTed  him  deeply,  sh*  bad  been  bJin 


MlOi^ 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES 


sc 


to  his  failings.     Neit>ier  Mr.  Dare  nor  his  wife  ' 
was  amongst  the  religious  of  the  world;  religious 
reflections,  they,  in  common  with  many  others  in 
Helslonleigh,  were  content  to  leave   to  some  re- 
mole  deathbed.     But  they   had   been    less  than 
human,  worse  than  heathen, could  they  be  insen- 
sible to  the  fate  of  Anthony — hurled  away   with  1 
his  sins  upon  his  head.     He  was  cut  off  suddenly  { 
from  this  world,  and — what  of  the  next?    It  was  ' 
a  question,  an    uncertainty,  that  they  dared  not ; 
follow;  and  they  sat,  one  on  each  side  their  deso- ; 
late  hearth,   and   wailed    forth    their    vain   an- 
guish. 

This  would,  in  truth,  have  been  tribulation  suf- 
ficient to  have  overshadowed  a  life;  but  there  was 
more  beyond    it.     Hemmed    in    by    pride,  as  lh» 
Dares  had  been,    playing   at  great  and  grand  ui  , 
Helstonleigh,  the  situation    of  Herbert,  putting  J 
aside  their  fears  or   their  sympathy  for  himsell   i 
was  about  the   most  complete   checkmate  thai  j 
could  have   fdllen  up<>n  them.     It  was  the  cup  oi 
humiliation    drained    to  the  dregs.     Whether  h«  ; 
shoulri  be  proved   guilty   or  not,   he  was  throw i,  ] 
into  prison  as  a  common  felon,  awaiting  his  tria   | 
for  murder;  and  that  disgrace  could  not  be  wipi  r!  ! 
out.     Did  they  believe  him  guilty?     1  hi-y  did  n'" 
know   themselves.     To    suspect   him   of  such    a  i 
crime,  was  painful  in  the  last  degree  to  their  feel 
ings;  bul — vvhy  did  he  persist  in  refiising  to  stal'   > 
where  he  was  on  the  eventful  mghi?    There  wa'  ' 
the  point  that  staggered  them.  | 

A  dr^p  gloom  overhung  the  house,  extendinj 
to  all  Its  inmates.     Even  the  servants  went  abou    i 
with  cad  faces  and  quiet  steps.    The  young  ladie-  \ 
knew  that   a  calamity  had    b»en  dealt  to  then   ) 
from  which   they  should    never  wholly   recovei    ' 
Their  star   of  hrilliance,    in    its   liltie  sphere  i  t  } 
liglit  Ht   HeNtonlei^h,  had   faded  into  dimness,  ii  \ 
not   wholly    gone    down    beneath    the   horizon    j 
Should  Herbert  be  foui^d    guilty,    it  could  nevci  ; 
rise  again.     Adelaide  rarely  spoke;  she  appeared 
to  possess  some   inward    source  of  vexation  oi  ' 
grief,   apart   from    the    general    tribulation.     At  "> 
least   so  judged    the    Signora    Varsini;    and  «he  ' 
was  a  shrewd  observer.     She,  .Miss   Dare,  spent  i 
most  of  her  time  shut  up  in  her  own  room.    Rosa' 
and    Minny   were   chiefly   with    their  governens. 
They  were  gttting  of  an  age  to  feel  it  in  an  equal 
degree  with   the  rest.     Rosa  was   eightei-n,  and 
had  begun  to  go  out  with  Mrs.  Dare  and  Adelaide. 
Minny  was  anticipating  to  go.    It  was  all  >toppi-d 
now — visiting,  gaily,  pleasure;  and  it  was  felt  as 
a  part  of  Vt  misfortune      The  first  shock  of  the  j 
occurrence  sutjsidid,  the  funeral    over,  and  Ihc 
family  .-etlled  down  in  its  mourning,  the  govern- 
e-8  exacted  ih<  jr  studies  from  her  two  pupils  as 
belore      'Ihej  were   loth  to  re  ci»mntttice  ihcm, 
and  appealed  to  their  mamma.    'It  wm  cruel  of 


mademoiselle  to  wish  it  of  them,'  they  said. 
M  .demoiselle  rejoined  that  her  motive  was  any- 
thing bul  a  cruel  one;  she  felt  sure  that  occupa- 
tion for  the  mind  was  the  best  counteractian  to 
grief.  If  they  would  not  study,  where  was  the 
use  of  her  remaining?  she  demanded.  Madame 
Dare  had  heller  allow  her  to  leave.  She  would 
no  without  notice,  if  Madame  pleased;  she  should 
be  (tlad  to  get  back  to  the  Continent.  .They  did 
not  have  murders  there  in  society;  at  least  she, 
mademoiselle,  had  never  endured  personal  expe. 
rience  of  such.  Mrs.  Dare  did  not  appear  will- 
ing to  accede  to  the  proposition;  the  governess 
was  a  most  efficient  instructress;  and  six  or  twelve 
months  more  of  her  services  would  be  essential 
to  the  tuining  out  of  her  pupils,  if  they  were  to 
ie  turned  out  as  pupils  ought.  Besides,  Mr. 
Sergeant  Delves  had  intimated  that  the  Signora's 
testioiony  would  be  necessary  on  the  trial,  and 
therefore  she  could  not  be  allowed  to  depart.  Mr. 
Dnre  thought  if  they  did  allow  her  to  depart, 
hey  might  be  accused  of  wishing  to  suppress  evi- 
lenre,  and  it  might  tell  against  Herb  rt.  So 
mad«moise|le  had  to  resign  herself  to  remaining. 
■  Fres  birn,'  she  equably  said,  'she  was  willing — 
I  nly  the  )oung  ladies  musit  resume  their  lessons.' 
A  mandate  in  which  Mis    Dure  orquiesccd. 

Sometimes  Minny.  who  was  jjiven  to  be  incor- 
rigibly idle,  would  burst  into  tears  over  the  trou- 
i)le  of  her  work,  and  then  lay  it  upon  her  distress 
tuching  ihe  uncertain  fate  of  Herbert.  One  day, 
ipon  her  doing  this,  the  governess  broke  out 
harply — 

'He  deserves  to  lie  in  prison,  does  Monsieur 
Herbert!' 

•Why  do  you  say  that.  Mademoiselle ?' asked 
Minny,  in  a  resentful  tone. 

'liecause  he  is  a  fool,'  politely  returned  made- 
uoi-elle.  'He  say,  does  he. not,  that  he  was  not 
iom«  at  the  time.  It  is  well;  bul  why  Woes  he 
.ot  say  where  he  was?     I  think  he  is  a  fool,  me.' 

•You  may  as  well  say  outright,  mademoiselle, 
ihat  you  think  him  guilty  !'  retorted  Mmny. 

'But  I  not  think  him  guilty,'  dissented  made- 
moiselle. •]  have  said  from  the  first  that  he  was 
not  guilty.  I  think  he  is  not  one  capable  of  doing 
such  an  injury  to  bis  brother  or  to  any  one  else. 
I  used  lo  be  great  frit-nds  with  .Monsieur  Herbert 
once,  when  I  gave  him  those  Italian  lessons,  and 
I  never  saw  to  make  me  believe  his  disposition 
was  a  cruel.' 

In  point  of  fact,  the  govtrness,  more  explicitly 
than  any  one  else  in  the  hou»e,  had  declared  all 
;ilotig  her  belief  in  Herbert's  innocence.  Truly 
and  sincert  ly  she  did  not  believe  him  capable  of 
-o  grievous  a  crime.  He  was  not  of  a  cruel  or 
rrvengeful  ditpntition:  certainly  not  one  to  li»!  in 
.^'Hit,  anu  attack  another  snvagily  and  fecretlv. 
ah*  hmi  narar  bcliavad  that  he  was,  and  would 


:>€ 


MAS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROtJBLM 


notbelicTe  itno"ar.  Neither  had  his  family.  Ser- 
geant Dekes's  opinion  was,  that  whoevet  had  at- 
tacked Anthony  had  lain  in  wait  for  him  in  ttu- 
dining-room,  and  had  sprung  upon  him  as  he  er 
tered.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  the  same 
point  staggered  mademoi-elle  that  staggered  tin- 
rest — Herbert  Dare's  refusing  to  state  where  he 
was  at  the  time.  Believing,  as  she  did,  that  he 
could  account  for  it  if  he  chose,  she  deemed  her- 
self perfectly  justified  in  applying  to  him  thf 
complimentary  epithet  you  hare  just  heard.  She 
expressed  true  sympathy  and  regret  at  the  un- 
timely fate  of  Anthony,  lamenting  him  much  and 
genuinely. 

Upon  Cyril  and  George  the  punishment  also 
fell.  Wiih  one  broiher  n  >t  cold  in  his  grave,  ano 
the  other  thrown  into  jail  to  await  his  trial  foi 
murder,  they  could  not,  for  shame,  pursue  theii 
amusements  as  formerly,  and  amusements  to 
Cyril  and  George  Dare  had  become  a  necessii\ 
of  daily  life.  Their  friends  and  companions  wen- 
growing  shy  of  them — or  else  they  fancied  it 
Conscience  is  all  too  suggestive.  They  fancied 
people  shunned  them  when  they  walked  ahmji 
the  street:  Cyril,  even,  a-<  he  stood  in  Samue' 
Lynn's  room  at  the  manufactory,  thought  ih. 
men,  as  they  passed  in  and  out,  looked  askance  ai 
him.  Very  likely  il  was  only  imagmati^^n 
George  Dare  had  sat  his  heart  upon  a  commi.s 
sion;  one  of  the  m<-mbeis  for  the  city  had  mad< 
a  half-promise  to  Mr  Dare,  that  hei  would  'sr.« 
what  could  be  done  at  the  Horse  Guards.'  Fail- 
ing available  interest  in  that  quarter,  George  wa^- 
in  hopes  his  father  would  screw  out  ip«.ney  to 
purchase  one.  But,  until  Herbert  should  bt 
proved  innocent  (if  that  time  should  ever  arrive,) 
the  question  of  his  entering  the  army  must  n 
main  in  abeyance.  This  state  of  things  alto- 
gether did  not  give  pleasure  to  Cjril  and  Georg- 
Dare.  But  there  was  no  remedy  for  it,  and  they 
had  to  content  themselves  with  sundry  private  ex- 
plo^-ions  of  temper,  by  way  of  relief  to  their 
minds. 

Yes,  the  evil  fell  upon  all;  upon  the  parents, 
and  upon  the  children.  Of  course  th«-y,  the  lat- 
ter, suffered  nolhinej  in  comparison  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dare.  Unhappy  days,  resilesp  nights,  were 
their  portion  now:  the  world  seemed  to  be  grow- 
ing too  miserable  to  live  in. 

'There  must  be  a  fate  upon  the  boys!' Mr. 
Dare  exclaimed  one  day,  in  the  bitierncss  of  his 
spirit,  as  he  paced  the  room  with  restless  steps, 
his  wife  sittint;  moodily,  her  elbow  on  the  centre 
table,  her  cheek  pre-sed  upon  her  hand.  'Unless 
there  had  been  a  fate  upon  them,  tbey  never 
could  have  turned  out  as  they  have.' 

Mrs.  Dare  resented  the  speech.  In  her  un- 
happy fram*  of  mind,  <?hich  told  terribly  upon 


(her  temper,  it  seemed  a  sort  of  relief  to  resent  I 
I  everything.  If  Mr.  Dare  spoke  against  their  sous, 
I  s'ie  stood  up  for  them.     'Turned  out!'  she  re- 
peated angrily. 

'Let  us  say, as  things  hare  turned  out,  then,  if 
vouwill.     They  appear  to  be  turning  out  pretty 
:)adly,  as  it  seems  to  me.     The  boys  have  had 
every  indulgence   in   life;  they  have   enjoyed  a 
! usurious  home;  they  have  ruined  me  to  supplj 
their  extravagances  —  ' 
'Ruined  you!'  again  resented  Mrs,  Dare. 
'Ay,  ruined.     It  has  all  but  come  to  it.     And 
yet,  what  benefit  has  the  indulgence,  or  have  the 
advantages  brought  them.'    Far  better — I  begin 
o  see  it  now — that  they  had   been  reared  to  self^ 
i  lenial:  made  to  work  for  their  daily  bread.' 
)     'How  can  you  give  utterance  to  such  things  !' 
( rejoined  Mrs.  Dare,  in  a  chafed  tone. 
i      Mr.   Dare  stopped  in  his  restless  pacing,  and 

<  •lorifronved  his  wife.     'Are  we  happy  in  our  sons 
Speak  the  truth.' 

;     'How  could  any  one  be  happy,  overwhelmed 

I  vith  a  misfortune  such  as  this?' 

I.      'Put  that  aside;  what  are. tbey  without  it?  Re- 

j  lellious  to  us;  of  ill  conduct  in  the  sight  of  the 

.  ^orld.' 

;      -Who  sajs  they  are  of  ill  conduct?'  asked  Mrs. 

(  Dare,  an  undt-rcurreiit  of  consciousness  tvhisper- 

<  i)g  thjt  she  need  not  have  made  the  objedion. 
'  They  may  be   a   little  wild;  but  it  is  a  common 

<  railing  with  those  of  their  ago  and  condiiion. 
I  Their  faults  are  but  faults  of  youth  and  of  un- 
'  curbed  s^jirits.' 

'I  wish,  then,  their  spirits  had  been  curbed,' 
',  was  the  reply  of  Mr.  Dare.     'It  is  useless  now  to 
reproach  each  other,'  he  continued,  resuming!  his 
;  '^alk;  'but  there  must  have  been  someti  ing  radi- 
cally wrong  in  the   bringing  of  them  up      An- 
j  ihony  gone;  Herbert,  perhaps,  to  follow  him  by 
almost  a  worse  death,  certainly  a  more  disgrace 
ful  one;  C^ril ' 

Mr.  Dare  stopped  abiuptly  in  bis  catalogue,  and 
went  on  more  generally. 

'There  is  no  comfort  in  them  for  us;  there 
never  will  be  any.* 

'What  can  you  bring  against  Cyril?'  sharply 
asked  Mrs.  Dare.  It  may  be,  that  these  com- 
plainings of  her  husband  chafed  her  temper- 
chafed,  perhaps,  her  conscience.  Certain  it  was 
they  rendered  her  irritable;  and  Mr.  Dare  had 
latterly  indulged  in  them  frequently.  'If  C}ril 
is  a  little  wild,  it  is  a  gentlemanly  failing.  There's 
nothing  else  to  urge  against  him.' 

'Is  theft  gentlemanly?' 

'Theft!' repeated  Mrs.  Dare. 

'Theft.  1  have  concealed  many  things  from 
you,  Juiia,  wishing  to  spare  your  feelings.  But 
it  maj  b*  a»  well  now  that  you  sho^ild  know  a 


MAS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROCIILES.  51 

littl«  more  of  %vh&t  your  sons  really  are.  Cyfii  \  'Steady  conduct!'  echoed  Mrs.  Dare.  'What 
might  have  stood  where  Herbert  will  stand — at ;  has  steadiness  of  conduct  to  do  with  executing  a 
the  criminal  bar;  though  lor  a  criii.e  of  itss  de-  coitinnssion  of  busii>eh8?  And  as  lo  being  alone, 
gree.     For  ail  I  can  lell.he  may  stand  at  it  how.';  ihc  Qual»er  Lynn  went.' 

Mrs.  Dare  lool^ed  scared.  'What  has  he  done?' ;  'But,  at  ihe  first  on^et,  jvhich  was  tho  time  I 
she  asked,  tier  tone  growing  timid.  j  spoke,  Mr.  .Ashley's  intention   w»s  to  despatch 

'1  say  thai  I  have  kept  these  things  from  you  (only  one — Halliburton.  He  said  that  Cyril's 
I  wish  I  could  have  kept  ihein  always;  but  it  ^  waul  of  steadiness  would  always  have  been  a  bar 
Bcems  to  me  that  ex^iosure  is  arising  in  manj  ^  lo  his  thinking  of  him.  Shall  I  go  on  and  en- 
ways,  and  it  is  better  you  should  be  prepared  for  )  lii;hten  jou  on  the  other  point — the  chequer'  Mr. 
it,  if  it  uMist  come.     I  awake  now  in   the  morn- j  Dare  added,  after  a  pause. 

ing  to  apprehension;  I  am  alarmed  throughout;!     'Y — es,'she  answered,  a  nervous  dread  caus- 
the  day  at  my  own  shadow,  dreading  what  un- '  ing  her  to  speak  with  hesitation.  Had  she  a  fore- 
known fate  may  not  be  falling  upon  them.     Her- J  shadow  of  what  was  coming.' 
■  bert  in  peril  of  the  hangman:  C>ril  in  peril  of  a  ■■      'It  was.  Cjril   who   took   it,'  said  Mr.  Dare, 
forced  vojage  to  the  penal  colonies.'  •  :! dropping  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 

A  sensation  of  utter  fear  stole  over  Mrs.  Dare.  ■'     ♦Qviii  l'  she  gasped. 
For  the  moment,  she  could  not  sp\ak.     But.  she)      'Our  son,  Cyril.     No  other.' 
rallied  her  powers  to  defend  Cyril.  ^      Mrs    Dare  took  her  hand  from  her  cheek  and 

1  thn.k  Cyril  is  hardly  used,  what  with  one  J  leaned  back  in  the  chair.  She  was  very  pale, 
thing  and  another.  He  was  to  have  gone  on  that  <  .^e  was  traced  to  White's  shop,  where  he 
French  journey,  and  at  the  last  moment  he  w&?  :  ehaiigcd  the  cheque  for  gold.  He  had  put  on 
pushed  out  of  it  for  Halliburton.  I  felt  more  \  Herbert's  cloak,  the  plaid  lining  outside.  When 
vexed  at  it,  almost,  than  Cyril  could,  and  1  spoke  )  ,,e  began  to  fear  deiection,  he  ripped  the  lining 
a  word  of  my  mind  to  Mrs.  Ashley.'  /out,  and  left  the  cloak  in  the  slate  it  is— now 

'You  did.'  .  jj,  t^ig  possession    of  the    police.     Some  of  the 

'Yes.  I  did  not  speak  of  it  in  the  light  of  dis-  [-^^^^  ^^^j  ^^g  ^ave  been  sewn  up,  1  suppose  by 
appointment  to  C^ril,  the  actual  fact  of  not  tak-  \^^^  ^j-  j^e  servants;  1  made  no  close  inquiries, 
ing  the  journey,  so  much  as  of  the  vexation  he-pj^^j  ^.j^gl,^.  ,,e  ^^^^^^  ^.jth  a  passing  shiver, 
experienced   at   being  supplanted    in   it  by   one  :,^j.^  ,^„  t^,^,^  ^,f  ^^^^  sons,  if  it  were  able 

whom    he — whom   we   all — consider   inferior  to  ^  .  , 

himself,  Willi.-,mJlalliburt6n.     1  let  Mrs.  Ashkj     °. How  did  you  know  it  was  Cyril  ."breathed  Mrs. 

know  trial  we  regarded   it  as  a  most  unmerited '„ 

"  •  Dare, 

and  uncalled-for  sii'ht;  and  I  took  care  lo  drop  a  ^      ,t-.  ta  ,         » 

"  '      '      'From  Delves.  . 

hint  that  wc  believed    Halliburlon  to  have  been)      .r\  ,^     \     t\     „i    \,^^,^  in* 

I     'Delves!     Docs /le  know  it? 

ruilly  in  that  cheque  affair.  5      .,,     i  a     i   .k„   .„.,«:„  u,.t,i;.,».  4V_ —.-• 

o       J  ^  >     i]\^  does.     And  the  man  is  holding  the  secret 

Mr.  Dare  pau.-ed.  'What  did  Mrs.  Ashley  ;„„t  gf  consideiation  for  us.  Delves  has  a  good 
say  r  he  presently  a^ked.  /  f.^art  ^t  bottom.  Not  but  what  1  spoke  a  friendly 

'She  said   very    little.      I  never  saw  her  so  /  word  for  him  when  he  was  made  sergeant,    it  all 
frigid.     She   iulimated   that   Mr.    Ashley   wasa^lclls.' 
eompetcnt  judge  of  his  own  busines.'^ '  ^     'And  Mr.  Ashley?' she  a«ked. 

•I  mean  as  to  th*  chsque?'  interrupted  Mr.  J  'There  is  l.ltle  doubt  that  .Ashley  has  some 
Djpg_  '-uspicion:  the  very  fact  of  his  not  making  a  tlir 

•She  was  more  frigid  over  that  than  over  the  ; '"  '^  proves  that  he  has.  It  would  not  please  him 
oth.T.  She  preferred  not  to  dihcuss  it,  she  an-^'l'^^  a  rc'ative— as  Cyril  is— should  stand  his 
swered;  who  it  might  be,  stole  it,  or  who  not.'     ',  l''^'  ^^^  felony.' 

,T  .  L.         I    .u       ■..in,''      'How    harshly  yf.u   put  it!'  exclaimed  Mrs. 

•I  can  set  you  right  on  both  points,  »aid  Mr.  '  .  ' 

D.o      1            .                     1   •   ■         ri-         ;  Dare,  bur»ting  into  tears      'Felony!' 
are.     'Cyril  came  to  me,  complaining  of  beini:  i  '         .     *  •' 

......r        .  ,,  '     'Nay,  what  else  can  I  call  It?' 

superseded   in   this  Fieiich    journey,   and  I  con,         „    '  .  ..      ,^  ,  .. 

_,     .•...■  .  .t    .  "i     1       J  .         /      Theie  endued  a  pause.     Mr.  D.ireresumrd  t>is 

plied  with  his  request  that  I  shou  d  go  and  re-  /  ,- 

„,„,.,„.....,       .   ,,         .    .  ,         i  restless  pacing;  Mrs.  Dare  sal  with  her  liandkcr- 

monstrate^i'h    .vlr.    Ashlry — being  a  sim.dctoi  J  '         " 

<-,..,.,.,.,.»:„.       M-    4  »  ,       if  I  ....     >■;' ief  !•>  licr  (ace.     Prtseniiy  sho  looked  up.' 

^  10'  my  pains.     Mr.  A-hicy  inf<irm<  u    me  that  \ii,  >  j  i 

never  had  entcrtainci  the  slightest  inlentjon  oV     'They  said  it  was  if.lhburlon's  cloak  ihal  Iha 

despatching  C)ril,   and    why   Cjril  should   i.avt    P*^*"**""  ^^'o  *''<' *'"^ 'o  change  the  cheque?* 

taken  up  the  n.4i.)n,  he  r.iuld  not  tell.     Mr  Asli-       'It  was  not  Halliburton's.     It  ^u%  Herbert's 

ley  c.mti.iucd  to  ssj  that  he  did  nut  consider  Cj-    turned  inside  out.     Herbert  knew  DolhiOifOf  ii, 

ril  of  sufficiectly  steady  conduct  t*  iotrusl  abroad    for  i  questioned  hira:  ho  had  gone  out  that  night, 

aloa*— — ^  I  laavin^  bin  cloak  hui|;iDg  in  iiis  doMt.    I  aaka4 

8 


88 


IdftS.  HALLlBtJRTOWg  TROrJSl.KS. 


bim  how  it  happened  that  his  cloak,  on  the  in- ; 
side,  should  resemble  Halliburton's,  and  he  said  ■ 
it  was  an  aecider.lal  coincidenct!.  1  don'l  believe  ; 
him.  1  entertain  little  doubt  that  it  was  con-  . 
trived  with  a  view  to  the  enacting  of  some  mis-  J 
eiiief 

other,  I  live,  as  I.  say,  in  perpetual  dread  of  new  ; 
troubles  turning  up.' 

Bitter,  most  bitter  were  those  revelations  to 
Mrs.  Dare;  bitter  had  they  been  to  her  hubband. 


CHAPTER  rVL 


AV     UULY     VISION, 


Mr.  Dare  had  not  taken  upon  himself  the  le- 

,'ith  a  View  to  me  enacting  oi  some  nus- ;  j     .     r  i  Tj-.-k„-.  „ >«      ii  i..<i 

^  "  gal  conduct  of  his  si  n   Herberts  case.     It  liaa 

In  fact,  what  with  one  revelation  and  an-  i  ■   .       .    .  .    .t  r  i-  •.       • .  n^i 

'  .  .  .    .       ,     ,  <  been  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a  solicitor  in  llel- 

(Stonleigh,    Mr.    VVinthorne.      This    gentleman, 

more  forcibly   than   anybody  else,  urged    upon 

',  Uerbeit  Dare  the  necessity  of  declaring — if  he 

.,  .  .  ,      r     ■        r-    L  111       .   '  could  declare — where  he  had  been  on  the  night 

Too  swiftly  were  the  fruits  of  their  children  s :  i       i    r  *u   »    ;r 

•'  .     .        ,    .  ;  of  the  murder.     He  very  clearly  foresaw  that,  if 

rearing  coming  home  to  them,  bringing  their  re- i  •  ,  j   •     i.  •  v  .      i     .u„^- 

°  ''  ,        J  \     ^       ,,' his  client  persisted  in  his  present  silence,  ther* 

eompense.  "There  must  be  a  fate  urion  the  boys !    ;  ,  .  .    .    ,  ..  ^         _. 

^  „       ,  „       .     ,  ,  was  no  chance  of  any  result  but  the. worst, 

he  reiter.-^tcd.     Possibly.      But  had   neither  pa-  ; 

He  could  obtain  no  response.     Deaf  to  him,  a» 

he  had  been  to  others,  Herbert  Dare  would  dis- 


rents  nor  children  done  aught  to  invoke  it? 


••Since  these  evils  have  come  upon  our  house- 


close  nothing.     In  vain   Mr.  Winthorne  pointed 


the  fate  of  Anthonv,  the  uncertainty  overhanging  '  c    .   u    j  i-     .    u-   .       ^-^i  k^ 

-'  ^        •'  .  ,°, '^  (to  consequences:  first,  by  delicate  hints;  next,  by 

Herbert,  the  certain  guilt  of  Cyri.' resumed  Mr.  ) ,.   .        .   i  ■•     .      *i        ^  i-  .u      Ji_ 

iitiuiiii.,  i.ui>  v.^i         5  J  hints  not  delicate;  then,  by  speaking  out  broadly 


land  fully.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  tell  your  client, 
I  in  so  many  words,  that  he  will  be  hanged  and  no- 
\  thing  can  save  him,  unless  he  compels  you  to  it. 
I  Herbert  Dare  compelled  Mr.  Winthorne.  All  in 
I  vain.  Mr.  Winthorne  found  lie  might  just  as 
I  well  talk  to  the  walls  of  the  cell.     Herbert  Dare 


Dare,  'I  have  asked  myself  whether  the  money 
we  inherited  from  old  Mr.  Cooper  may  not  have 
wrought  ill  for  us,  instead  of  good.' 

'Have  wrought  illr' 

•Aye!    Brought  with  it  a  curse,  instead  6f  a 
blessing.' 

She  made  no  remark.  ;  declared  in  the  most  positive  manner,  that  he  had 

'He  warned  us  that,  if  we  took  Edgar  Halli-  ■•  been    out  the  vvhiole   of   the  time   stated— from 

burton's  share,  it  would  not  bring  us  good      Do  •  ^alf-past    eight    o'clock,    or    thereabouts,  until 

you  remember  how  eagerly  he  spoke  it.'     We  did  j  nearly  two;  and  from  this  declaration  he  never 

take  it,'  Mr.  Dare  added,  dropping  bis  voice  to  ^g  served. 

the  lowest  whisper.    'And  I  believe  it  has  ju.t '      ^^  winthorne  was  perplexed.  The  prisoner's 

acted  as  a  curse.'  )  ..  r       ,  ^   u      ■ 

J  assertions  were  so  uniformly  earnestj  bearing  so 

•You  are  fanciful !'  she  cried,  her  hands  shiver- 1  apparently  the  stamp  of  truth, 'that  he  could  not 
ing,  as  she  raised  her  handkerchief  to  wipe  her  j  ^jj^i^gji^^g  jji„j.  or  rather,  sometimes  he  believed, 
pale  face.  >  -jj^fj  sometimes  he  doubted.     It  is  true  that  Her- 

•No;  there's  no  fancy  in  it.  We  should  have  |  ^^^.^,3  declarations  did  wear  an  air  of  entire 
done  well  to  attend  to  the  warning  of  the  dying  j^ruth;  but  Mr.  Winthorne  had  been  engaged  for 
Heaven  is  my  witness  that,  at  the  time,  such  a  |^^i^i„^,  offenders  before,  and  knew  what  the  as- 
thought  as  that  of  appropriating  it  to  ourselves,  \  gertions  of  a  great  many  of  them  were  worth, 
never  crossed  my  mind.  We  launched  out  into  |  ^own  deep  in  bis  heart  he  reasoned  very  muclf 
expense,  and  the  other  share  became  a  necessity  <  gft^j.  ^^^  manner  of  Sergeant  Delves.  'If  he  had 
It  is  that  expense  which  has  ruined  our  chil-  Wjeen  absent,  he'd  confess  it  to  save  his  neck.'  He 
dren.'  Laid  so  to  Herbert. 

•How  can  you  say  it."  she  rejoined,  lifting  her        „,,,,,,  ,.  ^u       u  1  n 

.  ^^    r  Herbert  took  the  matter,  on  the  whole,  coolly, 

hands  in  a  passionate  sort  of  manner.  ,      u    .  j  *•        .u    u     ••  v    a  a       I 

he  had  done  so  Irom  the  beginning.     He  did  not 

•It  has  been  nothing  else.  Hsd  they  been  reared  Ljgljgyg  ^^^^^  ^^-^  n^^l^  ^^^  ^^g^jj^  jq  jeopardy. 
moreplainly,th<;y  would  not  have  acquired  those  ,^,,gy,j,^gygj.  ^^j  ^^^  guilty,'  was  his  belief, 
extravagant  notions  which  have  been  their  bane.  ^^  ^^^1^  ^^t  avoid  standing  bis  trial:  that  was  a 
Without  that  inheritance,  and  the  style  of  living  calamity  from  which  there  was  no  escape:  but 
we  allowed  it  to  entail  upon  us,  the  boys  must  ^^  steadily  refused  to  look  at  its  results  in  a  som- 
have  understood  that  they  would  have  to  earn    ^^^  jj  ^^ 

money  before  they  spent  it,  and  they  would  have  1.     ^yt..  to- 

"•' .     .      ,,       .    .L       u     1      T  1-    )i,  'Can  you  tell  me  where  you  were.''    Mr.  Wm- 

nut  their  shqylders  to  the  wheel.     Juha,' he  con-     ,  •'  ..,.,,,,.. 

tinned,  halting  by  her  and  stretching  forth  hi  J  ^horne  one  morning  impulsively  asked  him,  when 
troubled  face  until  it  nearly  touched  her,-,  .jt  p""«  ^^^ '''"'^^^'"g  ^o  its  close, 
might  have  been  well  now,  well  with  them  and  'I  could  if  I  liked,"  replied  Herbert  Dare.  'I 
with  us,  had  our  children  been  obliged  to  buffet ;  svppose  you  mean,  by  that,  to  throw  a  shaft  of 
with  the  poverty  to  which  w©  condemned  the  |  discredit  on  what  I  say,  Winthorne;  but  you  are 
HaUiburtoni. '  1  wrong.    I  eould  point  out  to  you  and  to  all  Kelt- 


MR«.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


iO 


tonleigh  where  I  was  that  night;  but!  will  not.  'altogether  die  out,  were  he  really  required  tore- 
I  have  my  reasons,  and  I  will  not.'  ;  duce  it  to  practice,     flerbert  Dare  was  but   hu- 

'Tnen  you  will  fall,'  said  the  lawyer.  'The  man.  After  July  had  come  in,  and  the  time  to 
very  fact  of  there  being  no  other  quarter,  save!  the  period,  fixed  for  the  opening  of  the  assizes, 
yourself,  on  which  to  cast  a  shadow  of  suspicion,!  might  be  counted  by  hours,  then  his  courage  b«- 
will  tell  against  you.  You  have  been  br€d  to  the  ^  gan  to  flinch.  He  spent  a  nif^ht  in  tossing  from 
law,  mutt  see  these  things  as  plainly  as  I  can  ;  side  to  side  on  his  pallet  (a  wide  dillerence  be- 
put  them.'  ^tween  that  and  his   comfortable  feather-bed  at 

•There's  the  point  that  puzzles  me— who  itcan<  home),  during  which  a  certain  ugly  apparatus,  to 
have  been  who  did  the  injury.  I'd  give  half  my  ^  be  erected  for  his  especial  benefit  within  the  walU 
remaining  life  to  know.'  •  <of  the   prison   some   fine  Saturday   morning,  o» 

Mr.  WiHthorne  thought  that  the  whole  of  it,  to  j  which  he  might  figure  by  no  means  gracefully, 
judge  by  present  appearances,  might  not  be  an  in-  ^  had  mentally  disturbed  his  rest.  He  arose  unre- 
convenieiitly  prolonged  period;  but  he  did  notsaj  |  freshed.  The  vision  of  that  possible  future  wti 
80.  'What  is  jour  objection  to  speak.''  he  J  not  a  pleasant  one.  Herbert  remembered  once 
asked  .'  /  when   he  had  been  a  college  boy,  that  the  Satur- 

'Vou  have  put  the  same  question  about  fifty  ;!  day  morning's  occasional  drama  had  been  enacted 
times,  VVinthorne,  and  you'll  never  get  any  dif- <  for  the  warning  and  edification  of  the  town,  and 
ferent  answer  than  the  one  jou  have  had  al- 1  of  the  country  people  flocking  into  it  for  market, 
ready — that  I  don't  choose  to  state  it.'  /The  college   boys  had   determined,  for  once   io 

•I  suppose  you  were  not  committing  murder  in  'i  ^^^^^  h\es,  (o  see  the  sight— if  they  could  accom- 
another  quarter  of  the  town,  were  youj"  \  P''^^  ''•    The  ceremony  was  invariably  performed 

•I  suppose  I  was  not,'  equably  returned  Her- p^  ^'?:'^^  °'<^'o<^'^ 5  ^tic  "'"^'tion closed  at  nine:  and 
bert.  I  'he  difficulty  of  the  boys  was,    bow  to  arrive   at 

•Then,  failing  that  crime,  there's  no  other  in  the  \  ^^^  ^^^"^  '"  *'™e,  considering  that  it  was  only  at 
decalogue  that  I'd  not  confess  to,  to  save  my  life.  ^^^  striking  of  the  latter  hour  that  they  were  let 
Whether  I  was  robbing  a  bank,  or  setting  a  '°ose  down  the  steps  of  the  school.  They  had 
church  on  fire,  I'd  tell  it  out,  rather  than  be  >  t'"'*^'' ^'^^ ''»»< 'between  the  cloisters  and  the  county 
hanged  by  the  neck  until  I  was  dead.'  |  prison;  and  found  that  by  dint  of  taking  the  short 

•Ah,  but  I  was  not  doing  either,'  said  Herbert.  |  ^^  ^^'""'"Sh  the  back  streets,  tearing  along  at  th. 

'Then  there's  the  less  reason   for  your  persist- 1 '^.^"^"'^  P^^'^-^'    ^"^   knocking  over  every  obstruc 
.,       u  r  u         .        .  J  lion — human,  animal,  or  solid — that   miebt  un- 

iBff  m  the  observance  of  so  much  mystery.'  }-  .    ,     .      ,    .         .      ,  "I'h"'  "" 

.  ]  fortunately  be  m  theirpath,  they  could  do  the  dii- 

•My  doing  so  is  my  own   business,'  returned  j  t^^^^e   i„  ^^^^   ^i^^^^^      Arriving   rather   out  of 

Herbert.  jwind,  it's   true:    but   that    was  nothing.     Four 

•No,it  is  not  your  own  business,'  objected  Mr-   j„i„^,teg  ,  jheydid  not  see   their  way   clear.     If 

Winthorne.     'You  assert  that  you  are  innocent  of  ^^e  curtain  descended  at  nine,  sharp,  as  good  be 

the  crime  with  which  you  are  charged '         .  |  f^^jy  ^-^^^^^  ^^^ler  the  hour,  as  four,  in  point  of 

•I  assert  nothing   but   truth,'  interrupted  Her-^  practical  fact.     Bal  the  H.lstonleigh  college  boys 

i — as  you  may  sometime  have  heard  remarked  b»- 


bert. 


'Good.  Then,  if  you  are  innocent,  and  if  you?  fore-were  not  wont  to  allow  difficulties  to  over- 
can  prove  your  innocence,  it  is  your  duty  to  your;  ^,3,,^^  them.  If  there  was  a  p  .ssible  way  of 
family  to  do  it.  A  man's  duties  >n  this  life  arefgetUn^  ihrough  obs.ades,  they  were  .sure  to  find 
not  owingtohim^elfalone:  above  all,  a  son's.  He;,t.  Consultations  had  been  anxions.  To  request 
owes  allegiance  to  his  father  and  mother;  hisf  the  head-master  to  allow  them  as  a  favour  to  de- 
consideration  for  them  should  be  above  his  consid-f  p^ri  five  or  (en  minuies  before  the  usual  time, 
•ration  for  himself.  If  you  can  prove  your  in- ;  would  be  worse  than  useless.  Ii'was  a  question 
nocence  it  will  be  an  unpardonable  iin  not  to^oj  whether  he  ever  would  have  acceded  to  it;  but 
it;  a  sin  inflicted  on  your  family.'  j  there   was    no   chance  of    it  on    that    morning. 

•I  can't  help  it.' replied  Hr.rbcrt,  in  hii  obsti- ;  Neither  could  the  whole  school  he  taken  sum- 
nacy.  I  have  my  reasons  fornot  speaking,  and  1 1  marily  with  stomachache,  or  croup,  or  any  other 
shall  not  speak.  !  excruciating    malady.   nece<-»i(ating   compassion 

•You  will  surely  sufl'er  the  penalty,'  said  Mr.  and  art  early  dismissal.  Ttiey  camo  to  the  r«- 
Winlhernc.  '  hoIvc  of  applying  to  the  official  who  had  under  hit 

•Then  I  must  suffer  it,'  relumed  the  prisoner.    '  charge   the  cathedral  clock;  or.  as  thry   phrased 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  talk,  and  another  to  do. ;  n, "coming  overthe  clock-man.'  By  dii.lof coax- 
Many  a  brave  spirit,  quite  ready  and  willing  to' jng,  or  bribery,  or  some  other  element  of  peraua- 
undergo  hanging  in  theory,  would  find  his  hearlf  sion,  they  got  this  functionary  to  promi»«  to  put 
fail  and  his  less  shake,  would  find  hit  bravery  <  the  clock  on  eight  minutM  on  that  parti«HlarM«ra- 


6» 


MRS.  HALLIBDRTO:?'S  TROUBLKSL 


Ing.  And  it  was  done.  And  at  eight  minutes  ;  As  much  indulgence  as  it  was  possible  to  allow 
befora  nine  bj  the  sun,  the  cathedral  clock  rung  to  a  prisoner  was  accorded  to  Herbert  Dare:  in- 
cut iiS  nine  stroiies.  Bui,  instead  of  the  master  deed  it  may  be  questioned  whether  any  previoui 
li  ting  his  finger — the  signal  for  the  boys  to  tear  prisoner,  incarcerated  within  the  walls  of  th« 
forlQ— the  toaster  sat  quiet  at  Ins  tlcbk.aiid  never  U-.ounty  pn»on,  had  ever  eig.iyed  so  much.  The 
gave  it.  He  sat  until  ihe  eight  ipiniUes  had  gone  governor  of  the  prison  and  Mr.  Dare  had  lived 
by,  when  the  other  churches  in  the  town  gave  on  indmale  terms.  Mr.  Dare  and  his  two  elder 
out  their  hour.;  he  sat/our  mbiutes  after  that:  and!  sons  had  been  familiar,  in  their  legal  capacity, 
then  he  nodded  them  their  disiiiisfcai.  The  twelve |  with  both  its  civil  and  criminal  prisoners;  and  the 
minutes  had  seemed  to  the  boys  like  twelve  hours.  |  turnkeys  had  often  bowed  Herbert  in  and  out  of 
Where  the  hitch  was,  th-y  never  knew;  they  >  cells,  as  they  now  bowed  out  Mr.  Winthorne.  Al- 
never  have  known  to  this  day;  as  they  would  lell !  together,  what  with  the  governor's  friendly  feel- 
you  for  themselves.  Whether  the  master  got  an  Ijj^g^  and  the  turnkeys' reverential  one,  Herbert 
iiiklmg  of  what  was  in  the  wind;  or  whether,  by  I  D^re  obtained  more  privileges  than  the  common 
one  of  the  extraordinary  coincidences  that  some- <  pyi,  of  prisoners.  The  message  was  at  once  ta« 
limes  occur  in  life,  he,  for  that  one  morning,  al-  ken  to  Mr  Winthorne,  and  it  brought  that  gen- 
lowed  the   hour  to   slip   by   unheeded — had   not  |  iig^an  back, 

heard  it  strike— they  could  not  lell.  He  gave  out  |  4  have  made  up  my  mind  to  tell,'  was  Herbert'i 
no  clue,  then,  or  afterwardj.  The  clock-man  <  i^i-ief  salutation  when  he  entered, 
protested  that  he  had  bccnlru;;:  had  not  breathed  J  .^  very  sensible  resolution,' replied  the-Iawyer. 
a  hint  to  anjbody  living  of  the  purposed  advance- <  doubts,  however,  crossed  his  mind  as  he  spoke, 
ment;  and  the  bpvs  had  no  reason  to  disbejieve !  ^y^giljej.  Ihg  prisoner  was  not  about  to  set  iJ]> 
him.  However  it  might  have  been,  they  could  not  I  soj^jg  plea  which  never  had  place  in  fact.  As 
altar  it.  If  was  four  minutes  past  nine  when  they  jsgr^eant  Delves  had,  Mr.  Winthorne  had  arrived 
clattered  ■ptU-mdt  down  the  schoolroom  steps.  \  .^^  ^^^  fij-m  belief  that  there  was  nothing  to  tell. 
Away  they  tore,  full  ot  fallacious  hope,  out  at  the  L^ygn?.  gaidhe. 

cloisters,  through  the  cathedral   precincts,  along  S     .rpj^^t    is,  conditionally,'     resumed     Herbert 
the  nearest  streets,  and  arrived  within  the  given  |  j^j^^g      q^  would  be  of  little  use  my  saying  I  wai 
four  minutes,  rather  than  over  it.     Alas,  for  hu- 1  ^t  such  and  such  a  place,  unless  I  cotild  briiig  for- 
man  expjctatioas!     The  prison  was  there  it   is  j  ward  confirmatory  testimony.' 
true,  formidable  as   usual;    but  all  trace  cf   the)     »0f  course  it  would  not.' 

morning's  jiibiipe  had  passed  away.  *IVot  only^  «Well;  there  are  witnesses  who  could  give  this 
had  the  clusf  actor  been  remove.l,  hut  also  that  ^^^ji^f^gjory  evidence;  but  the  question  is,  will 
ugly  apparatus  which  Herbert  Dare  had   dreamt  ^  jf,^.y  ^^  willing  to  do  it?' 

of.  r/ial  might  have  afforded,  ihcin  some  gratifi-<  .What  motive  or  excuse  oould  they  have  for 
cation  to  contemplate,  failing  the  great  sight.  The;;  j.gfyj.ij,g;,  returned  Mr.  Winthorne.  'When  a 
college  boys,  struck  dumb  iij  the  first  moment^  r^]jo^^..ci.eature's  life  is  at  stake,  surely  there  is 
with  their  disappointment,  gave  vent  to  it  at^  „q-jjjjj„  g^  i^g^  ^^  }jun„anily,  as  not  to  come  for- 
length,  in  three  dismal  groarj*,  the  echoes  of  J  ^^j^^.j  ^^j  g^ye  it,  if  it  be  in  his  power.' 
which  might  have  been  heard  as  far  as  the  catho-|  «Circumstances  alter  cases,'  was  the  curt  reply 
dral.     Groans  not  intended  for  the  unhappy  mor-J^r  {jerbert  Dare. 

tal,  then  beyond  hearing  that,  or  any  other  earth-  j  .^Vas  it  your  doubt,  as  to  whether  they  would 
ly  sound;  not  for  the  officials  of  the  county  pn-jcoa^g  forward,  that  caused  you  to  hesitate  at 
son,  all  too  quick-handed  that  morning,  but  given  ,  ^^^Y^n„  ^n  them  .''  asked  Mr.  Winthorne,  some- 
as  a  compliment  to  the   re.-^pected  gentleman  at^^j^j^^^  ,,yj  pleasant  in  his  tone. 


that  time  holding  the  situation  of  head-master.' 


SN'ot  altogether.     I  foresaw  a  difficulty   in  it; 


Herbert  Dare  remembered  this;  it  was  risingJI  f(#esee  it  still.  Winthorne,  you  look  at  me 
up  in  his  jnind  with  strange  distinctness.  He  (with  a  face  full  of  doubt.  There's  no  cause  for 
himself  had  been  one  of  the  deputation  chosen  to  ',  it — as  you  will  find.' 

•come  over'  the  clock  man,  had  been  the   chief?     'Well,  go  on,' said  the  lawyer;  for  Herbert  had 
persuader  of  that  functionary.     Would  the  cbl-Utopped. 

lege  boys  hasten  down  if  he  were  to •    In  spite  \     'The  thing  must  be  gone  about  in  a  very  cau- 

of  his  bravery,  he  broke  off  the  speculation  with  Uious  manner;  and  I  don't  quite  see  how  it  can  be 
a  shudder;  and  calling  the  turnkey  to  him,  he  des-;  done,'  resumed  Herbert,  slowly.  'Winthorne,  I 
patched  a  message  for  Mr.  Winthorne.  Was  it^ think  I  had  better  make  a  confidant  of  you,  and 
the  remembrance  of  his  old  schoolfellows,  of  <  tell  you  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end.' 
what  thftj  would  think  of  him,  that  effected  what/  'If  I  am  to  do  you  any  good,  I  must  hear  it,  I 
wt  vth^r  eoaaideratiod  had  been  able  to  effect?     'expect.    A  man  can't  work  in  tke  dark.' 


MlUi.  MALLICUHTON'fl  TROUBLBS. 


CI 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


iEROEANT  DELTES  'LOOKI VP. 


'Sit  you    down  there  then,   «nd   I'll    begin.  ^     'Ho  vras  after  no  good,  I  know,' nodded  the  ser 
Though,  mind — I  tell  it  you  in  confidence.  It's  not ;  gcant  oracularly. 

for  Helstonleigh.     But  you  will   ste  the  cxpe-;      Mr.    WiniKornc    raised    his     eyebrows,    and 
diencyof  being  silent  when  you  hare  heard  it.' ^slightly  jerked   his  shoulders.     The   movement 

j  may  have  meant  anything  or  nothing.  He  did  not 

♦•♦ \  reply  in  words. 

\  Sergeat  Delves  fell  into  a  reverie.  He  roused 
/himself  from  it  to  take  a  searching  gaze  at  the 
i  lawyer.  'Sir,'  said  he,  and  he  could  hardly  have 
I sppken  more  earnestly  had  his  life  depended  on 

iit.     'Tell    me  the   truth   out-and-out.     Do   you, 
Thi  following  Saturday  was  the  day  fixed  for '-,,.-„if  /.^^^  ,.„  ,„^,,       .  .    ,     ■'      ' 

o  J  ■>  yourselt,  Irom  the  depths  of  your  own  judgment, 

the  opening  of  the  commission  at  Ilelstonlcigh.  '•  believe  Herbert  Dare  to  have  been  innocent" 
It  soon  came  round,    and  the  streets,  in  the   af-  ;     .Delves,  as  truly  as  that  you  and  I  now  stand 
ternoon,    wore  their  usual  holiday  appearance. ;  here,  I  honestly  belieVe  that  he  had  no  mor«uto 
The  high  sherifTs  procession  went  out  to  meet  the  ;  j^  ^-^^^  ^is  brother's  death  than  we  had  '       ^ 
judges,  and    groups,  stood    about   waiting   and;      .^hen  I'm  blest  if  1  don't  take   up  the  other 
watchmg  for  its  return.     Amengst  other   people   ^^ent !' exclaimed  Mr.  Delves,  slapping  his  thigh, 
blor-k.ng  up  the  way,  might  be  observed  the  portly  /  .j  ^ij  j^ink  of  it  once,  but  I  dropped  it  again,  so 
person  of  Sergeant  Delves.     He  strolled  along,    ,^^6  was  I  that  it  was  Master  Herbert.' 
■eeming  to  look  at  nothing,  but  his  keen  eye  was  ;      «VVhat  scent  is  that." 

everywhere.     It    suddenly    fell  upon    Mr.    VVin->      «r  nr^ir  ho-o  '  .o;j  «».«  ,     .v  ^  -i 

■'  .,.•',.        ^     ,         ,      ,  L-ook  here,  said  the  sergeant— 'but  now  it's 

thorrie,   who    was  picking  his  way   through   the  J  ^v  fum  «r,  ^.o-r,  -^r.,,  .-.  k     j     i       mi 

'  ,,,,.  .        ,  roy  turn  to  warn  you  to  be  dark*     There  was  a 

crowd  as  fast  as  he  could  pick  it,  apparently  m  a  '  y^^^g  ^„^^„  ^^^  A^^^^^^^   ^^^^  ^^^  ^^ 

hurry.     Hurry  or  not.  Sergeant   Delved  stopped  ^  the   murder,  when   he  wai  going  down  to   the 

him,  and  drew  him  to  a  safe  spot  beyond  the  reach    Star-and-Garter.     It's  a  young  woman  he  did  not 

•f  curious  ears.  behave  genteel  to,  some  time  back,  as  the  ghost 

'I  was  looking  for  you,  Mr.  Winthorne,'  cried  j  gays  in  the  sori£.  She  met  him  that  night,  and 
Delves,  in  a  confidentail  tone.  I  say^this  tale,  >  she  gave  him  a  bit  of  her  tongiie;  not  much,  for 
that  Dare  will  succeed  in  establishing  an  alibi,  is  he  wouldn't  slop  to  listen.  But  now,  Mr.  Win- 
it-reliable  .''  ;  tharoe,   it   has   crossed    my   mind    ro-iny   times, 

•Why— who  the  mischief  can  have  been  setting  -  whether  she  might  not  have  watched  for  his  going 
that  afloat.''  returned  the  lawyer,  in  a  tone  of  ^  home  again,  and  followed  him;  followed  him 
the  utmost  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with  vex- .  right  into  the  dining-room,  and  done  the  mi«- 
ation-  ;  chief.     I'll  lay  a  guinea  it  was  her !'  added  the 

•Dare  himself  was  my  informant,'  replied  the  \  sergeant,  arriving  at  a  hasty  conclusion.  •!  shall 
•crgcant.     'I  was  in  ihe  prison  just  now,  and  saw  |  look  up  again  now.' 

him  in  the  yard  with  the  turnkey.     He^alled  mo  *    'Do  you  mean   that  young  woman  in  Honey 
aside,  and  told  me  he  was  as  good  as  acquitted.'    /  Fair."  asked  Mr.  Winthorne. 

•Then  he  is  an  idiot  for  his  pains.  He  had  no  '  '^^*^  «o.  Her,  and  nobody  else.  The  doubt 
right  to  talk  of  it,  even  to  you.'  /  ^'^s  crossed  me;  but,  as  I  say,  I  was  so  certain  it 

'/am   dark,'   carelessly   returned    Delves,     j  ;  w»b  the  brother,  that  I  did  not  follow  it  up.' 

.      ..      •  1    .,,  .     ,L     rv  J  I.J       >         1    •«.     '      'Could  a  woman's  feeble  hand   inflict  such  in- 

don  t  wish  ill  to  the  Dares,  and  Id  not  work  itto    .     .       ,  ,  ,        ,  ujun-i  »uwu  id 

■    .  f  ..  ij  .  II  ,  i_    ;  juries.'   debated  the  solicitor, 

'em;  as  perhaps  some  of  them  could  tell  yo«,'  he  / 

added,  in  a  significant  tone.     What  about    this        'Feeble  be  hanged  !' politely  rejoined  the  ser- 

acquiltal  that  he  talks  of."  geant.     'Some  women  have  got  the  fists  of  men; 

'There's  no  doubt  he  will  be  acquitted.  He  ,  *"•*  ^^^  strength  of  'em,  too.  You  don't  know 
will  prove  an  o!i6i.'  'em  ai  we  jjo.     A  desperate   woman  'II  do  any 

'Is  it  a  got-up  alibi  V  asked  the  plain-speaking    'bing.     And  Anthony  Dare,  remember,  had  not 


sergeant. 

^  'No.  And  at  far  aa  T  go,  I  would  not  lend  my- 
•elf  to  the  getting  up  of  a  falsity.'  observed  the 
aolicilor.  'Ho  has  said  from  the  fir/"!,  you  know, 
that  he  wa^  not  near  the  house  at  the  time,  and 
■0  it  will  turn  out.' 

'Has  he  confessed  where  he  was,  after  all  his  '.  have,  you'll  have  Iramt  not  to  go  by  look/, 
ttanding  out  ?'  nsnir.'s  Caroline  Mafon.' 

'T«i:  to  me.    It  will  be  diaclMtd  at  the  trial.' '     At  that  moment  the  cathedral  bells  rang  out 


got  his  force  in  him  that  night.' 

Mr.  Winthorne  shook  hit  head.  'That  girl  hat 
no  look  of  ferocity  about  her.  I  should  quctlioD 
its  being  she.     Let's  see — what  it  her  name  .'' 

'Look'.'  returned    the   irrgeant.     'When 
have  had  half  at   much   to  do  with   penplei 


i> 


gf  MRS.  HALLIBTTRTON'S  TROUBLES. 

giTing  token  of  the  return  of  the  procession,  the  (     'You  don't?' 

advent  of  the  judges.     As  if  the  sound  reminded       'No,  I  don't.  Why  should  one  brother  kill  an* 

the  lawyer  of  the  speed  of  time,  he  hastily  spo.l ;  other?' 

on  his  way;  leaving  the  sergeant  to  use  hi»  eyes  j     'Very  true,'  coughed  the  sergeant.    'But  »om«- 

and  ears  at  the  expense  of  the  crowd.  J  body  must  have  done  it.    If  Herbert  Dare  did 

'I  wonder  how  the  prisoners  in  the  jails  feels?'  ^  ""t,  who  did  ?' 
remarked  a  woman,  whom  the  sergeant  recog- J     'Ah!  who  d.d?    I  d  hke  to  know.'she  p.si.on- 
nized  as  being  no  'other  than  Mrs.  Cross.     She  J  ately  added.     'He  had  got  folks  in-this  town  that 
had  just  come  out  of  a  warehouse  with  her  sup-^^wed  him  grudges,  had  Mr.  Anthony  Dare.', 
ply  of  work  for  the  ensuing  week.  .    ]     'If  ^J  vision  didn't  deceive   me,  I   saw  you 

'Ah.  poor  creatures  ?'  responded  another  of  the  J  talking  to  him  that  very  same  night,'  earelesily 
group,  and   that   was   Mrs.   Brumm.    «!  wonder ;,  observed  the  sergeant, 
how  young  Dare  likes  it?'  \     'Did  you  see  me?'  she  rejoined,  apparently  ag 

'Or  how  eld  Dai  e  likes  it-if  he  can  hear  'em  ^  much  at  ease  as  the  sergeant  himself.  '1  had  to 
all  the  way  up  at  his  office.  They'll  know  their^do  an  errand  at  that  end  of  the  town,  and  1  met 
fat5*80on,  them  two.'  ^bim,  and  told  him  what  he  was.     I  hadn't  spoke 

In  the 'close  vicinity  of  this  colloquy  was  a  j  to  him  for  months  and  months;  for  years,  1  think, 
young  woman,  drawn  against  the  wall,  under  the  ^  I. had  slipped  into  doors,  down  entries,  anywhere 
shelter  of  a  protecting  doorway.  Her  once  good-  J  to  avoid  him,  if  I  saw  him  coming;  but  a  feeling 
looking  face  was  haggard,  and  her  clothes  were  J  came  over  me  to  speak  to  him  then  I'm  glad  I 
scanty;  for  this  reason,  perhaps,  it  was,  that  she  J  did.  I  hope  the  truths  I  said  to  him  went  along 
appeared  to  shun  observation.  Sergeant  Delves,  ^  »rith  him  to  enliven  him  on  his  journey  I' 
apparently  without  any  other  design  than  that  of  ^  'Did- you  see  him  after  that,  later  in  the  even- 
working  hii  way  leisurely  through  the  throng,  ing?' resumed  the  inspector,  putting  the  question 
edged  himself  close  to  her.  sociably,  and  stretching  his  neck  up  to  obtain  a 

'Looking  out  for  the  show,  Miss  Mason  ?'  ^^^^  of  something  at  a  distance. 

Caroline  turned  her  spiritless  eyes  upon  him.  ^  'No.  I  didn  t,' she  replied.  'But  I  would,  if 
'I'm  waiting  till  there's  a  way  cleared  for  me  to  J I  had  thought  it  was  going  to  be  his  last.  1  'd  have 

ir   »u         u     „:tv>«„t    ^iiahino-    ocrn inst  (^  bade  h iiii  remember  all  h IS  Kood  works  where  he 
eet    myself   through,   without    pushing    againsi^  .       ,,,    ,         .   ^  .,    ,.       , 

■  ,,       ■'     ,  .   „;„„,,„„  „f   Vm      What's  the  /  was  going  to.     I'd  almost  have  went  with   him,  I 

folks,   and   contaminating  ot     em.     vvnai  s  xne  r,,*',         .,,        .  j^.u 

,    ■»;,  )  would,  to  have  heard  how  he  answered  for  them, 

show  to  me,  or  me  to  it?  '       »>,        » 

'At  the  last  assizes,  in  Marcb,when  the  judges  |UP  ^nere. 
came  in,  young  Anthony  Dare  made  one  in  the|     Caroline  Mason  glanced  upwards  to  indicate 
streets,  looking  on,' resumed  the  sergeant,  chat-.' the  sky,  when  a  loud  flourish  of  trumpets  from 
tine  affably.     '1  saw  him  and  spoke  to  him.    And;  the  advancing  heralds  sounded  close  upon  them, 
now  he  is  gone  where  there's  no  shows  to  see.'     \  As  th-y  rode  up  at  a  foot  pace,  they  dropped 

,  $  their  trumpets,   and   the    mounted    javelin-men 

She  made  no  reply.  ^      ■,,,,,        a  ,y.        u  .u        •       i-      • 

,     <  quickly  followed  them,  bearing  their  javelins  in 
'The  women  there,'  pointing  his  thumb  *t  the.   ^^^      ^  ^^^^.^^^  ^^  ^^^.  ^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^.^j^. 

group  of  talkers  hard  by,  'are  saying  that  Her-   ^^^  ^^^^^  advanced  the  beautiful  equipage  of  the 
bert  Dare  won't  like  the  sound  of  ^he  college  '^        ^^^^        .^^  ^^^^^^  capari.oned.  with  silver. 

•h«iu      Hev   me!     Look  at  them  young  toads  ot )     °  r    .      •   j  •      ■•    l,  /•  n 

Dells.     ney,iuo.     i^uu*  -  j        t>  .^.(  UnJy  one  of  the  judges  was  m  it;  he  was  fully 

«.r.llPo-p  bovs.  iust  let  out  of  college !'  broke  on  <        •'  -.i      u     •  .  a 

college  uoj»,  J usi.  i«sw  ""  &        ♦       f  4U    (  robed:  a  fine  man,  with  a  benign  countenance.  A 

the  sergeant,  as  a  tribe  of  some  twenty  of  the|    ^^^^  ^^.^^  ^^^  ^^  .^  ^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^.^^  ^^^  ^^^^ 
king's    scholars     came    fighting     «"d    elbo'vuig  j  .^_  ^^.^  ^^^  ^     ^^.^^  ^^  ^^.^^  ^^.^  ^^         .^  ^ 
their    way    through    the    throng   to    the    front.  /  ^.^^ 
•Thev  arc  iust  like  so  many  wild  colts?    Maybe  |        '  ^.       ,  .  ,...,/. 

.  u     V,    f  r»„..«    ;»  nn«r  /^.^ctino-  hisc     Sergeant  Delves' attention  was  distracted  for 

the  pr  soner,  Herbert  Dare,  is  now  casting  nis  ?  *•  ,.,,,,  .        ■     n 

^     1      14    .K^  .;^«  ,«K«n  tift  maf'.P  nnp  of   a"  i"9^a"t.  and  when  he  looked  round  again,  Car- 
tboushts  back  to  the  lime  when  he  made  one  oi  ,     .    ,.  j      u     •     .  u* 

,        .  r  „„  fn^„, /.ona  o=  thev  hp     o  me  Mason   had  disappeared.     He  just  caught 

the  band,  and  was  as  free  I rom  care  as  they  ue.  ^'^'  •   j-       v 

''"'  '  ,  sight  of  her  in  the  distance,  winding  her  way 

Ifs  not  so  long  ago.  ^^^^v.    through  the  crowd,  her  head  down. 

Caroline  Mason   asked  a  question   somewnai  o 

abruptly.    'Will  he  be  found  guilty ,  sir,  do  you  |     'Did  she  do  it,  or  not?'  cried  the  sergeant,  in 

J^p,   '  I  self-feolilbquy.     'Go  on,  go  on,  my  lady,  for  the 

The  sergeant  turned  the  tail  of  his  keen  eye  \  present;  you  are  a-going  to  be  a  bit  looked  after.' 

upon  her,  and  answered  the  question  by  asking  j     How  did  the  prisoners  feel,  and  Herbert  Dare 

anolber.     'Do  you?'  amongst  them,  as  the  joyous  sounds,  outside,  fell 

She  shook  her  head.    'I  don't  think  he  was   upon  their  ears:  the  blast  of  the  trumpets,  the 


guilty.' 


iweet  melody  of  the  bells,  the  stir  of  life:  p«n«' 


i*R8.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLEf, 


63 


trating  wiUiln  the  walls  of  the  city  and  county 
prisons?  Did  they  feel  that  the  pomp  and  show, 
run  after  as  a  holiday  sight,  was  but  a  crviel  ad- 
vent to  them? — that  the  formidable  and  fiery 
vision  ill  the  scarlet  robe  and  flowing  wiff,  who 
sat  in  the  tine  carriage,  bending  his  serene  face 
upon  the  mob,  collected  to  stare  and  shout,  might 
prove  the  pronouncer  of  their  doom  ? — a  doom 
that  should  close  the  portals  of  this  world  upon 
them,  and  open  those  of  eternity  ! 


CHAPTER  XVMI. 


THE    TRIAL. 


TcESDAT  morning  was  the  day  fixed  for  the 
trial  of  Herbert  Dare.  You  might  have  walked 
upon  the  people's  heads  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
Guildhall,  for  all  the  town  was  wishing  lo  get  in 
to  hear  it.  Of  course  but  a  very  small  portion  of 
the  town,  speaking  relatively,  could  get  its  wish, 
or  succeed  in  fighting  a  way  to  -a  place.  Of  the 
rest,  some  went  back  to  their  homes,  disap- 
pointed and  exploding;  and  the  rest  collected 
outside,  and  blocked  up  the  street.  The  police 
had  tbeir  work  cut  out  that  day,  while  the  jav- 
alin-aien,  heralding  in  the  judges,  experienced 
great  difiiculty  in  keeping  clear  the  passages. 
The  heat  in  court  would  be  desperate  as  the  day 
advanced. 

Sir  William  Leader,  as  senior  judge,  took  his- 
seat  in  the  criminal  court.  It  was  he  whom  you 
saw  in  the  sheriff's  carriage  on  Saturday.  The 
same  benignant  face  was  bent  upon  the  crowded 
court  that  had  been  bent  upon  the  street  mob 
the  same  the  penetrating  eye,  the  same  the  grave, 
calm  bearing.  The  prisoner  was  immediatelj 
placed  at  the  bar,  and  all  eyes,  strange  or  fu 
miliar,  were  strained  to  get  a  look  at  him.  The} 
saw  a  tall,  hsndsome  young  man,  looking  tnc 
gentlemanly  to  stand  in  the  felon's  dock.  H« 
was  habited  in  deep  mourning.  His  countenance, 
usually  somewhat  conspicuous  for  its  cleai 
brightness  of  complexion,  was  pale,  probably 
from  the  moment's  emotion,  and  his  white  hand- 
kerchief was  lifted  to  bis  mouth  as  he  moved  for- 
ward; otherwise  he  was  calm.  Old  Anthony 
Dare  was  in  court,  looking  far  more  agitated 
than  did  his  son.  Preliminaries  were  got  through, 
-\nd  the  trial  began. 

•Prisoner  at  the  bar,  how  say  you  ?  Are  you 
guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?' 

Herbert  Dare  raised  his  eyes  fearlessly,  and 
pleaded  in  a  firm  tone — 

'Not  Guilty!' 

The  leading  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  S«r- 


geant  Seeitall,  stated  the  case.  His  address  oc- 
cupied some  time,  and  he  then  proceeded  to  call 
witnesses.  One  of  those  first  examined  was 
Betsy  Carter.  She  deposed  to  the  facts  of  having 
sat  up  wiih  the  lady's-maid  and  Joseph,  until  the 
return  of  Mr.  and  IVlrs.  Dare  and  their  daughter, 
and.  to  having  then  gone  into  the  dining-room 
with  a  light  to  get  Mr.  Dare's  pipe,  which  sho 
had  left  there  in  the  morning,  when  cleaning  the 
room.  'In  moving  forward  with  the  candle,  I 
saw  something  dark  on  the  ground,'  continued 
Betsy,  who,  when  her  primary  timidity  had  gone 
off,  seemed  inclined  to  be  very  communicaiive. 
*At  the  first  glance,  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the 
gentlemen  gone  to  sleep  there;  but  when  1  stooped 
down  with  the  light,  I  saw  the  face  was  dead. 
Awful,  It  looked!' 

•What  did  you  next  do?'  demanded  the  exam- 
ining counsel. 

'Screeched  out,  gentlemen,' responded  Betsy. 

•What  eUe?' 

•I  went  out  of  the  room,  screeching  to  Joseph 
in  the  hall,  and  master  came  in  from  outsi(ie  the 
front  door,  where  he  was  waiting,  all  peaceful 
and  ignorant,  for  his  pipe,  little  thinking  what 
there  was  so  close  to  him.  I  screeched  out  all 
the  more,  gentlemen,  when  I  remembered  the 
quarrel  that  had  took  place  at  dinner  that  after- 
noon, and  I  knew  it  was  nobody  but  Mr.  Herbert 
ihat  had  done  the  murder.' 

The  witness  was  sharply  told  to  confine  her- 
-.elf  to  evidence. 

•It  couldn't  be  nobody  else,' retorted  Betsy, 
who  had  a  tongue,  once  set  going,  that  was  a 
match  for  any  cross-examiner.  'There  was  the 
cloak  to  prove  it.  Mr.  Herbert  had  gone  out  in 
Lhe  cloak  that  very  night,  and  the  poor  deadgen- 
ileraan  was  lying  on  it.  Which  proves  it  must 
iiave  come  oti'in  the  sculUe  between  'em. 

The  fact  of  the  quarrel,  the  facts  connected 
vvith  the  cloak,  as  well  as  all  other  facts,  had 
)een  mentioned  by  the  learned  sergeant,  Seeit- 
tll,  in  his  opening  address.  The  witness  was 
|uestioncd  as  to  what  she  knew  of  the  quarrel; 
)ut  it  appeared  that  she  had  not  been  present; 
consequently  could  not  testify  to  it.  The  cloak 
-he  could  say  more  about,  and  spoke  of  it  confi- 
dently as  Mr.  Herbert's. 

'How  did  you  know  the  cloak, found  under  the 
dead  man,  was  Mr.  Herbert's .='  interposed  the 
piisoner's  counsel,  Mr.  Chattaway. 

•Because  1  did,'  returned  the  witness. 

»J  ask  you  how  you  knew  it?' 

'By  lots  of  tokens,' she  answered.  •By  the 
shiny  black  clasp,  for  one  thing,  and  by  the  tears 
and  jags  in  it,  fur  another.  Nobody  im^  nev«^ 
l>relcnded  ii  was  not  the  cloak,  have  tlit-y  '  1  h/i^s 
>eeii  it  Litj  times  banging  up  in  Mr.  Herbert's 
closet.' 


64 


MAS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES, 


'You  saw  the  prisoner  going  out  in  it  that  eve- 
ning ?' 

•Yes,  I  did,'  she  answered.  *I  was  looking  out 
at  Miss  Adelaide's  chamber  windovr,  and  1  saw 
him  come  out  of  the  dining-room  window  and  go 
off  towards  the  front  gates.  The  gentlemen  often 
went  out  through  the  dining-room  window,  in- 
stead of  at  the  hall  door.' 

•The  prisoner  says  he  came  back  immediately, 
and  left  his  cloak  jn  the  dining-room,  going  out 
finally  without  it.     Did  you  see  him  come  back.'' 

*No,  I  didn't  replied  Betsy; 

•How  long  did  you  remain  at  the  window.'' 

•Not  long.' 

'Did  you  remain  long  enough  for  him  to  cross 
the  lawn  to  the  front  entrance  gates,  and  come 
back  again.' 

•fCo,  1  don't  think  I  did,  sir.' 

•The  court  will  please  take  note  of  that  an- 
swer,' said  Mr.  Chattaway,  who  was  aware  that 
a  great  deal  had  been  made  of  the  fact  of  the 
housemaid's  having  seen  him  go  out  in  the  cloak. 
'You  quitted  the  window,  then,  immediately.'' 

'Pretty  near  immediately.  I  don't  think  1 
stayed  long  enough  at  it  for  him  to  come  back 
from  the  front  gates — if  he  did  come.  I  have 
never  said  i  did,  have  1?'  she  resentfully  con- 
tinued, 

•What  time  was  it  that  you  saw  him  go  out." 

'I  hadn't  took  particular  notice  of  the  time.  .It 
was  dusk,  I  was  turning  down  of  my  beds;  and 
I  generally  do  that  a  little  afore  nine.  The  pest 
room  1  went  into  was  Mr.  Anthony's.' 

'The  deceased  was  in  it,  was  he  not." 

'He  was  in  it,  a-slretching  full  length  upon 
the  sofa,  little  thinking,  poor  fellow,  that  he'd 
soon  be  stretched  down  below,  with  a  stab  gashed 
into  him.  He  had  got  his  head  down  on  the 
cushion,  and  his  feet  up  over  the  arm  at  the  foot; 
all  comfortable  and  easy,  with  a  cigar  in  hit. 
mouth,  and  some  glasses  and  things  on  the  table 
near  him.  "What  are  you  come  bothering  in 
here  for?"  he  asked.  So  I  begged  his  pardon; 
for  you  see,  gentlemen,  I  didn't  know  that  li«  was 
there,  and  I  went  out  again  with  my  pail,  and 
met  .Joseph  a-carrying  up  a  note  to  him.  A  lit- 
tle while  after  that,  ho  went  out.' 

The  witness's  propensity  to  degenerate  into 
gossip  appeared  to  bcgreat.  Several  times  she 
was  stopped;  once  by  the  judge. 

'Of  how  many  servants  did  the  household  ol 
Mr.  Dare  consist.''  she  was  asked. 

'There  were  jour  of  us,  gentlemen.' 

'Did  you  all  sit  up  that  night?'   . 
.     'All  but  the  cook.     She  went  to  bed.' 

•Arid  the  family,  those  who  were  at  home,  wen 
to  bed?' 

•All  of  themi  sir.    The  governess  went  early  j 


she  was  not  well;  and  Miss  Rosa  and  Mist 
Minny  went,  and  the  two  young  gentlemen 
went  when  they  came  home  from  playing 
cricket.* 

'In  point  of  fact,  then,  nobody  was  up  but  you 
three  servants  in  the  kitchen." 

'Nobody,  sir.' 

'And  you  heard  no  noise  in  the  house  until  the 
return  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dare ." 

'We  never  heard  nothing,'  responded  Betsy. 
'We  was  silting  quiet  in  the  kitchen;  nie  and  the 
lady's-maid,  at  work,  and  Joseph  asleep.  We 
never  heard  no  noise  at  all.' 

This  was  the  substance  of  what  was  asked  her. 
Joseph  was  next  called,  and  gave  his  testimony. 
He  deposed  to  having  fastened  up  the  house  at 
eleven  o'clock,  with  the  exception  of  the  dining- 
room  window;  that  was  left  open  in  obedience  to 
orders.  AH  other  facts  within  his  knowledge  h« 
also  testified  to.  The  governess,  Signora  Var- 
sini,  was  called,  and  questioned  upon  two  points: 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard  of  the  quarrel,  and 
of  the  subsequent  conduct  of  Anthony  and  Her- 
bert to  each  other  in  the  drawing-room.  But  her 
testimony  amounted  to  nothing,  and  she  might  as 
well  have  not  been  troubled.  She  was  also  asked 
whether  she  had  heard  any  noise  in  the  house  be- 
tween eleven  o'clock  and  the  return  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Dare.  She  replied  that  she  did  not 
hear  any,  for  she  had  been  asleep.  She  went  to 
sleep  long  before  eleven,  and  did  not  wake  up 
until  aroused  by  the  commotion, arising  from  the 
finding  of  the  body.  The  witness  was  proceed- 
ii^g  to  favour  the  court  with  her  own  conviction 
that  the  prisoner  was  innocent,  but  jvas  biought 
up  with  a  summary  notice  that  that  was  not  evi- 
dence, and  that,  if  she  knew  nothing  more,  she 
might  withdraw.  Upon  which  she  honoured  the 
bench  with  an  elaborate  curtsy,  and  retired.  Not 
a  witness  .throughout  the  day,  gave  evidence  with 
'Uore  entire  equanimity. 

Lor5  Hawkesley  was  examined;  also  Mr.  Brit- 
tle— the  latter  coming  to  Helstonleigh  on  his 
Hubpcena.  But  to  give  the  testimony  of  all  the 
witnesses  in  length,  would  only  be  to  repeat  what 
IS  already  related.  It  will  be  sufficient  to  extract 
a  few  questions  here  and  there. 

'What  were  the  games  played  in  your  rooms 
.hat  evening  ?'  was  asked  of  Mr.  Brittle. 

'Some  played  whist;  some  6car(6.' 

'At  which  did  the  deceased  play  ?' 

•At  whist.'  ''' 

'Was  he  a  loser  or  a  gainer?' 

'A  loser;  but  to  a  very  trifling  amount.  We 
vere  playing  half-crown  points.  He  and  myself 
,)  ay<  d  against  Lord  Hawkesley  and  Captain 
ilellow.  We  broke  up  because  fae,thedecea6ed|l 
was  not  stt£iei«atiy  sober  to  play*' 


MAS.  MALUflllRTON'S  TROUBLES. 


6fi 


'Was  h«  sober  when  he  joined  you?' 
•By  no   means.     He   appeared  to    have  been 
drinking  rather  freely;  and  he  took  more  at  my 
rooms,  which  made  him  worse.'  ; 

•Why  did  you  accompany  him  home?'  I 

'He  was  scarcely  in  a  fit  state  to  proceed  alone;  > 
and  I  felt  no  objection  to  a  walk.  It  was  a  fine  < 
night.'  \ 

'     'Did  he  speak,  during  the  evening,  of  the  dis-  j 
pute  which  had  taken  place  between  him  and  his 
brother?'  interposed  the  judge, 

'He  did  not,  my  lord.  A  slight  incident  oc- < 
curred  as  we  were  going  to  his  home,  which  it  • 

may  be  perhaps  as  well  to  mention '  j 

'Tou  must  mention  everything'  which  bears 
upon  this  unhappy  case,  sir,'  interrupted  the 
judge.  Tou  are  sworn  to  tell  the  whole 
truth.' 

•I  do  not  suppose  it  does  bear  upon  it  directly, 
my  lord.  Had  I  attached  importance  to  it,  1 
should  have  spoken  of  it  before.  In  passing  the 
turning  which  leads  to  the  race-course,  a  man 
met  us,  and  began  to  abuse  the  deceased.  The 
deceased  was  inclined  to  stop  and  return  it,  but 
I  drew  him  on.' 

'Of  what  nature  was  the  abuse?'  asked  the 
counsel. 

'I  do  not  recollect  the  precise  terms.  It  was 
to  the  effect  that  he,  the  deceased,  tippled  awaj 
his  money,  instead  of  paying  his  debts.  The 
man  put  his  back  against  the  wall  as  he  spoke; 
he  appeared  to  have  had  rather  too  much  him- 
self. I  drew  the  deceased  on,  and  we  were  soon 
out  of  hearing.' 

•What  became  of  the  man  ?* 

•I  do  not  know.  We  left  him  standing  against 
the  wail.  He  called  loudly  after  the  deceasen 
to  know  when  his  bill  was  to  get  paid.  1  judged 
him  to  be  some  petty  tradesman.' 

•Did  he  follow  you?' 

'No.  At  least  we  heard  no  more  of  him  after- 
wards. I  saw  the  deceased  safely  within  his  own 
gate,  and  left  him.' 

•What  state,  as  to  sobriety,  was  tb«  deceased 
in  then?' 

'He  was  what  may  be  called  half-seas  over,' 
replied  the  witness  'He  could  talk,  but  his  words 
were  not  very  distinct.' 

'Could  he  walk  alone  ?' 

'After  a  fashion.     He  stumbled  as  he  walked.' 

'What  time  was  this  ?' 

'About  half-past  eleven.  I  think  the  half-horn 
■truck  directly  after  I  left  him,  but  I  am  no 
quite  sure.' 

'As  you  returned,  did  you  see  anything  of  the 
man  who  had  accosted  the  deceased?' 

'Not  anything.' 

BtrtDfo  to  sty,  the  rary  man  ibui  ipokan  of, 
9 


was  in  court,  listening  tq  the  trial.  Upon  hear- 
ing this  evidence  given  by  Mr.  Brittle,  he  volun- 
tarily put  himself  forward  as  a  witness.  He  said 
he  had  been  'having  a  sup,'  and  it  had  made  his 
tongue  abusive,  but  that  Anthony  Dare  had  owed 
him  money  long  for  work  done,  mending  and 
making.  He  was  a  jobbing  tailor,  and  the  bill 
was  a  matter  of  fourteen  pounds.  Anthony  Dare 
had  only  put  him  off  and  off;  he  was  a  poor  man, 
with  a  wife  and  family  to  keep,  and  he  wanted 
the  money  badly;  but  now,  he  supposed,  he 
should  never  be  paid.  He  lived  close*to  the  spot 
where  he  met  the  deceased  and  the  gentleman  who 
had  just  given  evidence,  and  he  could  prove  that 
he  went  in  home  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight, 
and  was  in  bed  by  half-past  eleven.  What  with 
debts  and  various  other  things,  he  concluded,  the 
town  had  had  enough  to  rue  in  young  Anthony 
Dare;  still,  the  poor  fellow  didn't  deserve  such  a 
shocking  fate  as  murder;  and  he  would  hare  been 
the  first  to  protect  him  from  it. 

That  the  evidence  was  given  in  good  faith, 
there  was  no  doubt.  He  was  known  to  the  town 
as  a  harmless,  inoffensive  man,  addicted,  though 
upon  rare  occasions,  to  take  more  than  was  good 
for  him,  when  he  was  apt  to  dilate  upon  his  grie- 
vances. 

The  policeman  who  had  been  on  duty  that 
night  near  Mr.  Dare's  residence,  was  the  next 
witness  called. 

'Did  yoii  see  the  deceased  that  night?'  was 
asked  of  him. 

'Yes,  sir,  I  did,'  was  the  reply.  'I  saw  him 
walking  home  with  the  gentleman  who  has  given 
evidence — Mr.  Brittle.  I  noticed  that  young 
Mr.  Dare  talked  thick,  as  if  he  had  been  drink- 
ing.' 

'Did  they  appear  to  be  on  good  terms?' 

'Very  good  terms,  sir.  Mr.  Brittle  was  laugh- 
ing when  he  opened  the  gate  for  the  deceased, 
and  told  him  to  mind  he  did  not  kiss  tha  grass; 
')r  something  to  that  effect.' 

•Were  you  close  to  them  ?' 

'Quite  close,  sir.  I  said  "Good-night"  to  th* 
deceased,  but  he  seemed  not  to  notice  it.  I  stood 
and  watched  him  over  the  grass.  He  reeled  ai 
he  walked.' 

'What  time  was  this?' 

'Nigh  upon  half-past  eleven,  sir.' 

'Did  you  detect  any  signs  of  people  moving 
ivithin  the  house  ?' 

'Not  any,  sir.  The  house  seemed  quit*  still, 
.ind  the  blinds  were  down  before  the  windows. ' 

'Did  you  see  any  one  enter  the  ^ate  il.at  nirht 
besides  the  deceased  ^ 

'Not  any  one.' 

'Not  the  prisoner?' 

'Not  any  one,'  repeated  th«  policemM. 


m 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


'Did  you  see  anything  of  the  prisoner,  later';     'He  will  not  tell  you." 
between  half-past  one  and  two,  the  time  he  al--     'He  declines  t6  do  so.    But,  the  witness  added, 
leges  as  that  of  his  going  home  ?'  i  with  emotion,  'he  has  denied  his  guilt  to  me  from 

•J  never  sav/  the  prisoner  at  all  that  night,  ^  the  first,  in  the  most  decisive  manner:  and  I  sol- 
air.'  ^emnly  believe  him  to  be  innocent.     Why  he  will 

'He  could  have  gone  in,  as  he  states,  without 'not  state  where  he  was,  I  cannot  conceive;  but 
your  seeing  him?'  interposed  the  prisoner's  coun-^  not  a  shade  of  doubt  rests  upon  my  mind  that  he 
sel.  ^  could  state  it,  if  he  chose,  and  that  it  would  be 

'Yes,  certainly,  a  dozen  times  over.    My  beat  ^  the  means  of  establishing  the  fact  of  his  absence." 
extended  to  half-a-mile  beyond  Mr.  Dare's.'         !^  I  would  not  assert  this,  if  I  did  not  believe  it,' 

One  witness  who  was  placed  in  the  box,  crea-S  said  the  witness,  raising  his  trembling  hand, 
ted  a  profound  sensation;  for  it  was  the  unhappy ' 'They  were  both  my  boys;  the  one  destroyed  was 
father,  Anthony  Dare.  Since  the  deed  was  com-  ^  mj  eldest,  perhaps  my  dearest;  and  I  declare  that 
mitted,  two  months  back,  Mr.  Dare  had  been  ^^ I  would  not,  knowingly,  screen  his  assassin,  al- 
growJDg  old.  His  brow  was  furrowed,  his  cheeks  ^  though  that  assassin  were  his  brother.' 
were  wruikled,  his  hair  was  turning  of  a  whitish  <  The  case  for  the  prosecution  concluded,  and 
grey,  and  he  looked,  as  he  obeyed  the  call  to  the  $  the  defence  was  entered  upon.  The  prisoner's 
witness-box,  like  a  man  sinking  under  a  heavy  5  counsel— two  of  them  eminent  men,  Mr.  Chatta- 


way  himself  being  no  secondary  light  in  the  fo- 
rensic'world — laboured  under  one  disadvantage, 
as  it  appeared  to  the  crowded  court.  They  ex- 
erted all  their  shrewd  eloquence  in  seeking  to  di- 
vert the  guilt  from  the  prisoner:  but  they  could 
not — distort  facts  as  they  might,  call  upon  imagi- 
nation as  they  would — they  could  not  conjure  up 
'Personally,  nothing,'  was  the   reply.     '1  was  j  ^^e  ghost  of  any  other  channel  to  which  to  direct 

suspicion.     There  lay  the  staggering  point,  as  it 


weight  of  care.    Many  of  the  countenances  pres-  j 
ent  expressed  deep  commiseration  lor  him. 

He  was  sworn,  and  various  questions  were 
asked  him.  Amongst  others,  whether  he  knew 
apyttiiug  of  the  quarrel  which  had  taken  place 
between  his  two  sons. 


not  at  home.' 


•It  has  been  testified  that  when  they  were  |  had  lain  throughout.  If  Herbert  Dare  was  not 
parted,  your  son  Herbert  threatened  his  brother,  guilty,  who  was?  The  family,  quietly  sleeping 
Is  he  of  a  revengeful  disposition?'  .      '  in  their  beds,  were  beyond  the  pale  of  suspicion; 

'x\o,' replied  Mr.  Dare,  with  emotion;  'that,  ij^^e  household  equally  so;  and  no  trace  of  any 
can  truly  say,  he  is  not.  My  poor  son,  Anthony,  midnight  intruder  to  the  house  could  be  found, 
was  somewhat  given  to  suUenness,  but  Herbert  ^^  ^^»  ^  g^'^^®  stumbling  block  for  the  prisoner's 
never  was.'  \  counsel;  but  such  stumbling  blocks  are  as  nothing 

•There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  ill-feeling  be-p,'^  ^"  ^f  P"'  P"^"'^^!'- ,  ^*'  ^^  ^'^  ^/-  ^hattaway 
,,  /•  1  .      ,  L   .•        ,  (disposed,  or  seemed   to  dispose,  of  every  argu- 

tween  them  of  late,  I  believe.'  .  .v,  .         ,j  .  ,,         ■     .  .u  rJ^u 

,     ,,         ,  /mentthat  could  tell  against  the   prisoner.    The 

'I  fear  there  had  been.'  ;  i^  ..        ,     i  ..u     j-  ■  ^ 

,    .  ,    ,  ,-  ,       .        presence  of  the  cloak  in  the  dining  room,  from 

•It  IS  stated  that  you  yourseli,  upon  leaving      ...  ,  .      .,°     ,  , 

,  ,     ,  '^ .  °  /  which  80  much  appearance  of  guilt  had  been  de- 

home  that  evening,  left  them  a  warning  not  to  ■;  .        ,    ,  ^   ,  ■  ..  ^    ,.  . 

w  5>  ^duced,  he  converted  into  a  negative  proof  of  m- 

^  '  '  ^nocence.     'Had  he  been  the  one  engaged  in  the 

'I  believe  I  did.     Anthony  entered  the  house /.struggle,'  argued  the  learned  Q    C,  'would  he 

as  we  were  leaving  it,  and  I  did  say  something  to    have  been  mad  enough  to  leave  his  own  cloak 

him  to  that  effect.'  <  there,  underneath  his  victim,  a  damning  proof  of 

'Herbert,  the  prisoner,  was  not  present?'  guilt?    No!     that,  at  any  rate,   he  would  have 

•No.    He  had  not  returned.'  conveyed    away.     The  very  fact  of   the    cloak 

'It  is  proved  that  he  came  home  later,  dined,)  being  underneath  the  murdered  man  was  a   most 

and  went  out  again  at  dusk.     It  does  not  appear/ indisputable  proof,  as  he   regarded  it,   that  the 

that  he  was  seen  afterwards  by  any  member  off-  prisoner  remained  totally   ignorant  of  what  had 

your  household,  until  you  yourself  went  up  to.' happened— ignorant  of  his  unfortunate  brother's 

his  chamber  and  found  them  there,  subsequent  to  ^  being  at  all  in  the  dining-room.     Why  !    had  he 

the  discovery  of  the  body.     His  own  account  is,  ^  only  surmised  his  brother  was  lying,  wounded  or 

that  he  had  but  recently  returned.     Do  j'ou  know/  dead,  in  the  room,  would  he  hoi  have  hastened  to 

where  he  was  during  his  absence ."  <  remove  his  cloak  out  of  it,  before  it  should  be 

•No.'  ?seen  there,  knowing,  as  he  must  know,  that,  from 

•Or  where  he  went  to?'  J  the  very  terms  on  which  he  and  his  brother  had 

•No,'  repeated  the  witness,  in  a  sadly  faltering  |  been,  it  would  be  looked  upon  as  a   proof  of  bis 

tone,  fur  he  knew  that  this  waa  tbo  one  weak | guilt?'    The  argument  told  well  with  the  jury — 

point  in  the  dtfence.  {probably  with  the  judg«. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


67 


Bit  by  bit,  so  did  he  thus  dispose  of  the  auspi- 1  modest  garb,  peculiar  to  the  sect  called  Quakers, 
cious  circumstances:  of  all,  save  one.  And  that ;  not  more  modest  than  the  lovely  and  gentle  face, 
was  the  great  one,  the  one  that  nobody  could  get^  She  does  not  take  the  oath,  only  the  affirmative 
over;  the  refusal   of  the  prisoner  to  state  where  I  peculiar  to  her  people.  ,,         . 

he  was  that  night     'AH  in  good  time,  gentlemen  ;     'What  is  your  name?     commenced  the  pni- 
of  the  iurv,' said  Mr.  Chattaway,  some  murmured!  oners  counsel.  ,     .  , 

,  ,.       ,.        .  ,.„,   ,>,_  r.mi«<5inn  was!     That  she  spoke  words  in  reply,  was  evident, 

words  reaching   his   ear  that  the  omission  was  .^.       ,.        .    ^   I  ,.       ^u 

,  .  ,,„„  -nmino-  tn  that    by  the  moving  of  her  lips;  but  they  could  not  be 

deemed  an  ominous  one.     '1  am  coming  lo  mai  i    j  »  r   >  j 

later;  and  I   shall  prove  as  complete  and  distinct  J  heard.  , .,     .    , 

,  !„♦  tr.  . I. limit  in  nn  1     '  You  must  Speak  Up,' lotcrposed  the  juflge,  in  a 

an  ahbi  as  it  was  ever  my   lot  to  suDmii  lo   an  /  f  r>  r  j     o  » 

enlightened  court.' 


The  court  listened,  the  jury  listened,  the  «pec- 
tators  listened,  and 'hoped  he  might.'  He  had 
spoken,  for  the  most  part,  to  incredulous  ears. 


tone  of  kindness. 

A  deep  gasping  for  breath,  an  efiTort  that  even 
those  around  could  see  its  pain,  and  the  answer 
came.     'They  call  me  Anna.    1  am  the  daughter 
of  Samuel  Lynn.* 
'Where  do  you  live?' 

•I  live  with  my  father  and  Patience,  in  the 
London  Road.' 
•What  do  you  know  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar?' 
A  pause.     She  probably  did  not  understand  the 
sort  of  answer  required.    One  came  that  was  un- 
expected. 
'1  know  him  to  be  innocent  of  the  crime  of 
When  the  speech  of  counsel  ended,  and  the  time  |  which  he  is  accused.' 
came  for  the  production  of  the   witnesses   who  j     'How  do  you  know  this?' 
were  to  prove   the  alibi,  there  appeared  to   be  |      'Because  he  could  not  have  been  near  the  spot 
some  delay.     The  intense  heat  of  the  court  had  :  at  the  time' 
been   growing   greater  with   every  hour.      The  j     'Where  was  he  then?' 
beams  of  the  afternoon  sun,  now  sinking  lower  \     'With  me.' 

and   lower   in  the  heavens,  had   only  brought  a  j      But  the  reply  came  forth  in  so  faint  a  whisper, 
more  deadly  feeling  of  suffocation.     But,  to  go  ( that  again  she  had  to  be  enjoined  to  speak  louder, 
out  to  get  a  breath  of  air,  even  had  the  thronged  |  and  she  repeated  it,  using  different  words, 
state  of  the  passages  allowed  the  movement,  ap- 1     'He  was  at  our  house.' 
peared  to  enter  into  nobody's  thoughts.     Their  j     'At  what  hour  did  he  go  to  your  house  .J* 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  WITNESSES  FOR  THE  ALIBI. 


suspense  was  too  keen,  their  interest  too  absorb 
ing.  Who  were  those  mysterious  witnesses,  that 
would  testify  to  the  innocence  of  Herbert  Dare? 
A  stir  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  court,  where 
it  joined   the  outer   passage.      Every   eye   was 


'It  was  past  nine  when  he  came  up  first.' 
•And  what  time  did  he  leave  ." 
•It  was  about  one  in  the  morning.' 
The  answer  appeared  to  create  some  stir.     A 
late  hour  for  a  sober  little  Quakeress  to  confesi 


strained  to  see,  every  ear  to  listen,  as  an  usher   to. 

came  clearing  the  way.    'By  your  leave  there—  |     'Was  he    spending    the    evening    with    your 

by  your  leave;  room  for  a  witness  !'  \  friends ." 

The  spectators    looked,  and    stretched  their  *     «No.' 
necks,  and  looked  again.     A  few  among  them  ex-  J     «Did  they  not  know  he  was  there.'' 
perienced  a  strange  thrill  of  disappointment,  and  i      'No.' 

felt  that  they  should  have  much  pleasure  at  being  )  'It  was  a  clandestine  visit  to  yourself,  then  ? 
allowed  the  privilege  of  boxing  the  usher's  ears,  '  Where  were  they.'' 

for  he  preceded  nobody  more  important  than  j  A  pause;  and  a  very  trembling  answer.  'Thej 
Richard  Winthorne,  the  lawyer.     Ah,  but  wait  '  were  in  bed.' 

a  bit!    What  short  and  slight  figure  is  it  that  Mr.  |     'Oh  !    You  were  entertaining  him  by  yourself, 
Winthorne  is  guiding  along'     The  angry  crowd  j  then  ." 
have  not  caught  sight  of  her  yet.  ,     She  burst  into  tears.     The  judge  let  fall  bit 

But,  when  they  do— when  the  drooping,  shrink-  ;  glasses,  ai  though  under  the  pressure  of  some  an- 
ing  form  is  at  length  in  the  witness-box;  her  eyes  noyance,  every  feature  of  his  fine  face  expre»- 
never  raised,  her  lovely  face  bent  in  timid  dread  ,  sive  of  compassion;  it  may  be,  his  tlioughu  bad 

jhen  a  murmur  arises,  and  shakes  the  court  to  '  flown  to  daughters  of  his  own.     The  crowd  stood 

iU  foundation.  The  judge  feels  for  his  glasses—  with  open  mouths,  gaping  with  undinguiatd  ai- 
rarely  used— and  puts  thtm  aToss  his  nose,  and  toni«hment,  and  the  burly  Queen's  couMel  pro- 
g&zea  at  h«r.    A  tair  girl,  alUrcd  in  the  limple,  i  cccded. 


63 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLDS. 


'And  80  he  prolonged  his  risit  until  one  o'clock  t 
in  the  morning  ? '  J 

'1  was  locked  out,'  sho  sobbed.  'That  is  how  ; 
he  came  to  stay  so  late.'  ! 

Bit  by  bit,  what  with  questioning  and  cross-  < 
questioning,  it  all  came  out:  that  Herbert  Dare 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  paying  stolen  yisits  to  i 
the  field,  and  that  Anna  had  been  in  the  habit  of  | 
meeting  him  there.  That  she  had  gone  in  home  1 
on  this  night  just  before  ten,  which  was  later 
than  she  had  ever  stayed  out  before;  but,  finding  I 
Hester  had  to  go  out  to  get  the  medicine  for  Pa- 1 
tience,  she  had  run  to  the  field  again  to  take  a  \ 
book  to  the  prisoner;  and  that  upon  attempting  to  | 
enter,  soon  afterwards,  she  found  the  door  locked,  i 
Hester  having  met  the  doctor's  boy,  and  come  | 
back  at  once.  She  told  it  all,  as  simply  and  ' 
guilelessly  as  a  child.  \ 

'What  were  you  doing  all  that  while?  From} 
ten  o'clock  until  one  in  the  morning?'  } 

'I  was  sitting  on  the  door  step,  crying.'  \ 

'Was  the  prisoner  with  you?'  \ 

•Yes.  He  stood  by  me  part  of  the  time,  telling 
me  not  to  be  afraid;  and  the  rest  of  the  time — 
more  than  an  hour,  I  think — he  was  working,  at 
the  wires  of  the  pantry  window,  to  try  to  get  in.'  j 

'Was  he  all  that  while  at  the  wires  f  j 

'It  was  a  long  while  befor<'  I  remembered  the 
pantry  window.  He  wanted  to  knock  up  Hester,  } 
but  I  was  afraid  to  let  him.  I  feared  she  might 
tell  Patience,  and  they  would  have  been  so  angry 
with  me.  He  got  in,  at  last,  at  the  pantry  win- 
dow, and  he  opened  the  kitchen  window  for  me, 
and  1  went  in  by  it  '  ,.  i 

'And  you  mean  to  say  he  was  all  that  while,  j 
till  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  forcing  the  wires  i 
of  a  pantry  window?'  cried  Seigeant  Seeitall.       j 

'It  was  nearly  one.  I  am  telling  thee  the  ) 
truth.'  j 

.  'And  you  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  prisoner; 
from  the  time  he  first  came  to  the  field,  at  nine 
o'clock,  until  he  left  you  at  one.' 

'Only  for  the  few  minutes — it  may  have  been 
four  or  five — when  I  ran  in  and  came  out  again  ) 
with  the  book.     He  waited  in  the  field.'  \ 

'What  time  was  that?'  | 

'The  ten  o'clock  bell  was  going  in  Helston- 
leigh.     We  could  hear  it.' 

'He  was  with  you  all  the  rest  of  the  timer' 

'Yes,  all.    When  he  was  working  at  the  pantry 
window  1  could  not  see  him,  because  he  was 
round  the  angle  of  the  house.     Not  a  minute  of  1^ 
the  time  but  I  heard  him.     He  was  more  than  an  ^ 
hour  at  the  wires,  as  I  have  told  thee.'  :i 

•And  until  he  began  at  the  wires  ?'  / 

'He  was  standing  up  by  me,  telling  me  not  to  be !; 
afraid. '  j; 

•All  the  time.    You  affirm  this.'  ^ 


'I  am  affirming  all  that  I  tty  to  thee.  1  am 
speaking  as  before  my  Maker.  * 

•Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pretty  confession  for  a 
young  lady  to  make?* 

She  burst  into  fresh  tears.  The  judge  turned 
his  grave  face  upon  Sergeant  Seeitall.  But  the 
Sergeant  had  impudence  enough  for  ten. 

'Pray,  how  many  times  had  that  pretty  little 
midnight  drama  been  enacted?'  he  continued, 
while  Anna  sobbed  in  distress. 

'Never  before,'  burst  forth  a  deep  voice. 
•Don't  you  see  it  was  a  pure  accident,  as  she 
tells  you  ?  How  dare  you  treat  her  as  you  might 
a  shameless  witness?'  * 

The  interruption — one  of  powerful  emotion- 
had  come  from  the  prisoner.  At  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  Anna  started,  and  looked  round  hur- 
riedly to  the  quarter  whence  it  came.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  raised  her  eyes  to  the  court 
since  entering  the  witness-box.  She  had  glanced 
up  to  answer  whoever  questioned  her,  and  that 
was  all. 

'Well?' said  Sergeant  Seeitall,  as  if  demanding 
what  else  she  might  have  to  communicate. 

'I  have  no  more  to  tell.  1  have  told  thee  all  I 
know.  It  was  nearly  one  o'clock  when  he  went 
away,  and  I  never  saw  him  after.' 

•Did  the  prisoner  wear  a  cloak  when  he  came 
to  the  field  that  night  ?' 

•No.  He  wore  one  sometimes,  but  he  did  not 
have  it  on  that  night.     It  was  very  warm—' 

But,  at  that  moment,  Anna  Lynn  became  con- 
scious that  a  familiar  face  was  strained  upon  her 
from  the  midst  of  the  crowd:  familiar,  and  yet 
not  familiar;  for  the  face  was  distorted  from  its 
natural  look,  and  was  blanched,  as  of  one  in  the 
last  agony — the  face  of  Samuel  Lynn.  With  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain — of  dread — Anna  fell  on  the 
floor  in  a  fainting  fit.  What  the  shame  of  being 
before  that  public  court,  of  answering  the  search- 
ing questions  of  the  counsel,  had  failed  to  take 
away — her  senses — the  sight  of  her  father,  cogni- 
zant of  her  disgrace,  had  effected.  Surely  it  was 
a  disgrace  for  a  young  and  guileless  maiden  to 
have  to  confess  to  such  an  escapade — an  esca- 
pade that  sounded  worse  to  censuring  ears  than 
it  had  been  in  reality.  Anna  fainted.  Mr.  Win- 
thorne  stepped  forward,  and  she  was  borne  out. 

Another  Quakeress  was  now  put  into  the  wit- 
ness-box, and  the  court  looked  upon  a  little, 
middle-aged  woman,  whose  face  was  sallow,  and 
who  showed  her  decayed  teeth  as  she  spoke.  It 
was  Hester  Dell.  She  wore  a  brown  silk  bon- 
net, lined  with  white,  and  a  fawn-coloured  shawl. 
She  was  told  that  she  must  state  what  she  knew, 
relative  to  the  visit  of  Herbert  Dare,  that  night. 

•I  went  to  rest  at  my  usual  hour,  or,  maybe,  a 
trifle  later,  for  I  had  waited  for  the  arriral  of 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


69 


gome  physic,  BCTer  supposing  but  that  the  child, 
Anna,  had  gone  to  her  room  before  me,  and  was 
safe  in  bed.  I  had  been  asleep  some  considerable 
time,  as  it  seemed,  when  I  was  awakened  by 
what  sounded  like  the  raising  of  the  kitchen  win- 
dow underneath.  I  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened, 
and  was  conyinced  that  the  window  was  being 
raised  slowly  and  cautiously,  as  if  the  raiser  did 
not  want  it  to  be  heard.  I  was  considerably 
startled,  the  more  so  as  I  knew  I  had  left  the 
window  fastened;  and  my  thoughts  turned  to 
housebreakers.  While  I  deliberated  what  to  do, 
seeing  I  was  but  a  lone  woman  in  the  house,  save 
for  the  child  Anna,  and  Patience  who  was  dis- 
abled in  her  bed,  I  heard  what  appeared  to  be 
the  Toice  of  th«  child,  and  it  sounded  in  the 
yard.  I  went  to  my  window,  but  I  could  not  see 
anything,  it  being  right  over  the  kitchen,  and  I 
not  daring  to  open  it.  But  I  still  heard  Anna's 
voice:  she  was  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  and  I  be- 
lieved I  caught  other  tones  also — those  of  a  man. 
I  thought  I  must  be  asleep  and  dreaming;  next  I 
thought  that  it  must  be  young  Gar  from  the  next 
door,  Jane  Halliburton's  son.  Her  other  sons  I 
knew  to  be  not  at  home;  the  one  being  abroad, 
the  other  at  the  University  of  Oxford.  I  delib- 
erated could  anything  be  the  matter  at  their 
house,  and  the  boy  have  come  for  help.  Then  I 
reflected  that  that  was  most  unlikely,  for  why 
should  he  be  stealthily  opening  the  kitchen  win. 
dow,  and  why  should  Anna  be  whispering  with 
him?  In  short,  to  tell  thee  the  truth' — raising 
her  eyes  to  the  judge,  whom  she  appeared  to  ad- 
dress, to  the  ignoring  of  everybody  else — •!  did 
not  know  what  to  think,  and  I  grew  more  dis- 
turbed. I  quietly  put  on  a  few  things,  and  went 
softly  down  the  stairs,  deeming  it  well,  for  my 
own  sake,  to  feel  my  way,  as  it  were,  and  not  to 
run  headlong  into  danger.  I  stood  a  moment  at 
the  kitchen  door,  listening;  and  there  I  distinctly 
heard  Anna  laugh — a  little,  gentle  laugh.  It  re- 
assured me,  though  I  was  still  puzzled;  and  I 
opened  the  door  at  once.* 

Here  the  witness  made  a  dead  pause. 

'What  did  you  see  when  you  opened  the  door?' 
asked  the  judge. 

'I  would  not  tell  thee,  but  that  I  am  bound  to 
tell  thee,'  she  frankly  answered.  '1  saw  the  pris- 
oner, Herbert  Dare.  He  appeared  to  have  been 
laughing  with  Anna,  who  stood  near  him,  and  he 
was  preparing  to  get  out  at  the  window  as  I  en- 
tered.' 

'Well?  what  next?'  inquired  the  counsel,  in  an 
impatient  tone;  for  Hester  had  stopped  again. 

'I  can  hardly  tell  what  next,'  replied  the  wit- 
ness. 'Looking  back,  it  appears  nothing  but  con- 
fusion in  my  mind.  It  seemed  nothing  but  con- 
fiiiiooattbttime.    Anna  cried  out,  »pd  bid  her 


face  in  fear;  and  the  prisoner  attempted  some 
explanation,  whi<;h  I  would  not  listen  to.  To  see 
a  son  of  Anthony  Dare's  in  the  house  with  the 
child  at  that  midnight  hour,  filled  me  with  anger 
and  bewilderment.  I  ordered  him  away;  I  be- 
lieve I  pushed  him  through  the  window;  I  threat- 
ened to  call  in  the  policeman.  Finally,  he  went 
away.' 

'Saying  nothing?' 

'I  tell  you  all,  I  would  not  listen  to  it.  I  re- 
membered scraps  of  what  he  said  afterwards. 
That  Anna  was  not  to  blame— that  I  had  no 
cause  to  scold  her  or  to  acquaint  Patience  with 
what  had  happened— that  the  fault,  if  there  was 
any  fault,  was  mine,  for  locking  the  back  door 
so  quickly.  I  refused  to  hear  farther,  and  he  de- 
parted, saying  he  would  explain  when  I  was  less 
fierce.     That  is  all  I  saw  of  him.' 

'Did  you  mention  this  affair  to  any  one  ?'  asked 
the  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 

•No.' 

•Why  not?' 

•The  child  clung  about  me  in  tears  after  he  was 
gone,  giving  me  the  explanation  that  J  would  not 
hear  from  him,  and  beseeching  me  not  to  acquaint 
Patience.  She  told  me  how  it  had  happened. 
That  upon  my  going  out  to  see  after  the  sleeping- 
draught  for  Patience,  she  had  taken  the  opportu- 
nity to  ran  to  the  field  with  a  book,  where  Her- 
bert Dare  waited;  and  that  upon  attempting  to 
come  in  again,  she  found  the  door  locked.' 

•You  returned  sooner  than  she  expected  ?' 

'Yes.  I  met  the  doctor's  boy  near  the  house, 
bringing  the  physic,  and  I  took  it  from  him  and 
went  home  again  directly.  Not  seeing  Anna 
about,  I  never  thought  but  that  she  had  retired  to 
bed.  I  went  up  also,  trying  the  back  door  as  I 
passed  it,  which  to  my  surprise  I  found  unfas- 
tened.' 

'Why  to  your  surprise  ?' 

'Because  I  had,  as  I  believed,  previously  turned 
the  key  of  it.  Finding  it  unlocked,  I  concluded 
I  must  have  been  mistaken.  Afterwards,  when 
the  explanation  came,  I  learnt  that  Aana  had  un- 
done it.  She  clung  about  me,  as  1  tell  thee,  sob- 
bing and  crying,  saying,  as  he  had  said,  there 
was  no  cause  to  be  angry  with  her;  that  she  could 
not  help  what  had  happened ;  and  that  she  had  lat 
crying  on  the  doorstep  the  whole  of  the  time, 
until  he  had  effected  an  entrance  for  her.  I  went 
to  the  pantry  window,  and  saw  where  the  wires 
had  been  torn  away,  not  roughly,  but  neatly;  and 
I  knew  it  must  have  taken  a  longwhile  to  accom- 
plish. I  fell  in  with  the  child's  prayer,  and  did 
not  speak  of  what  had  occurred,  not  even  to  Pa- 
tience. This  is  the  first  time  it  bai  escaped  my 
lips.' 

'So  jou  deemed  it  dctimbje  to  conceal  tucb  an 


to 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


adventure,  and  give  the  prisoner  opportunity  to  '  and  wondering,  believed  Patience  must  be  de- 
renew  bis  midnight  visits?'  retorted  the  prosecu- 1  mented;  that  the  message  could  have  no  founda- 
tine  counsel  ^'°°  '°  truth.    Nevertheless,  he  bent  his  steps  to 

•What  was  done  could  not  be  undone,'  said  the  \  the  Guildhall,  accompanied  by  William  Hallibur- 
witness.  'I  was  willing  to  spare  the  scandal  S  ton,  and  was  witness  to  the  evidence..  He,  strict 
to  the  child,  and  not  be  the  means  of  spreading  and  sober-minded,  was  not  likely  to  take  up  a 
it  abroad.  While  I  was  deliberating  whether  to  more  favourable  construction  of  the  facts  gene- 
tell  Patience,  seeing  she  was  in  so  suffering  a  rally,  than  the  town  was  taking  up.  It  may  be 
state,  news  came  that  Herbert  Dare  was  a  pris-  guessed  what  it  was  for  him. 
oner.  He  had  been  arrested  the  following  morn-  He  sat  now  on  a  bench  in  the  outer  hall,  cur- 
ing, on  the  accusation  of  murdering  his  brother, !  rounded  by  friends,  who,  on  hearing  the  crying 
and  I  knew  that  he  was  safe  for  several  weeks  to  i  scandal  whispered,  touching  a  young  member  of 
come.     Hence  I  held  my  tongue.' 

The  witness  had  given  her  evidence  in  a  clear,  J 
straightforward, uncompromising  manner,  widely 


their  body,  had  come  flocking  down  to  the  Guild- 
hall. When  they  spoke  to  him,  he  did  not  appear 
to  hear;  he  sat  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  and 
his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  never  raising  it. 
Richard  Winthorne  approached  him. 

•Miss  Lynn  and  her  servant  will  not  be  wanted 
again,'  said  the  lawyer.  'I  have  sent  for  a 
fly.' 

The  fly  came.  Anna  was  placed  in  it  by  Mr. 
Winthorne;  Hester  Dell  followed;  and  Samuel 


'■  Lynn  came  forward  and  stumbled  into  it.    Stum- 

-v/mjf  ""^u  i  "'"  ^v^^w.     ^w^^...-  . . .-—-----,  j  j^j^^ ,  j^  .^  ^^^  proper  word,  he  appeared  to  have 

the  man  of  law,  came  to  our  house  in  a  fly  this  j  ^ ^^^  ^^^^  »^  J^^^  ^._  ^^^_    _  »'*' 

afternoon,  and  brought  us  away  with  him.     By 
some  remarks  he   exchanged   with   Anna,  when 
we  were  in  it,  I  found  that  she  had  known  of  it ; 
this  day  or  two.    They  feared  to  avert  me,  I  sup- 
pose, lest,  maybe,  I  might  refuse  to  attend.' 

'One  question  more,  witness.   Did  the  prisoner 
wear  a  cloak  that  night  ?' 

<No— I  did  not  see  any.' 

This  closed  the  evidence,  and  the  witness  was 


at  variance  with  the  distressed  timidity  of  Anna. 
Not  a  shade  of  doubt  rested  on  the  mind  of  any  | 
person  in  court  that  both  had  spoken  the  exact ; 
truth.  But  the  counsel  seemed  inclined  to  ques- 
tion still.  < 
'Since  when  did  you  know  you  were  coming  : 
here  to  give  this  evidence?' 

Only  when  I  did  come.     Richard  Winthorne, 

r>iir    Vinnicp.  in    n   flv  thiS  ) 

no  power  left  to  pick  his  legs  up. 

'Thou  wilt  not  be  harsh  with  her,  Samuel,' 
whispered  an  influential  Friend,  who  had  a  kind, 
benevolent  countenance.  'Some  of  us  will  con- 
fer with  thee  to-morrow;  but  meanwhile,  do.not 
be  harsh  with  her.  Thou  wilt  call  to  mind  that 
i  she  is  thy  child,  and  motherless.' 

Samuel  Lynn  made  no  reply.  He  did  not  ap- 
pear to  hear.  He  sat  opposite  his  daughter,  his 
allowed  to  withdraw.  Richard  Winthorne  went  j  eyes  never  lifted,  and  his  face  assuming  a  leaden, 
in  search  of  Samuel  Lynn,  and  found  him  seated  ghastly  hue  Hester  suddenly  leaned  from  the 
on  a  bench  in  the  outer  hall,  surrounded  by  gen-  door,  and  beckoned  to  William  Halliburton, 
tlemen  of  his  persuasion,  many  of  them  of  high  'Will  thee  please  be  so  obliging  as  to  go  up 
standing  in  Helstonleigh.  Tales  of  marvel,  you  ^ith  us  in  the  fly  ?'  she  said  in  his  ear.  'I  do  not 
know,  never  lose   anything  in  spreading;  neither    like  his  look.' 

are  people  given  to  place  a  light  construction  on  William  stepped  in,  and  the  fly  was  driven 
public  gossip,  when  they  can,  by  any  stretch  of  away  with  closed  blinds,  to  the  intense  chagrin  of 
imagination,  place  a  dark  one.  In  this  affair,  the  curious  mob.  Before  it  was  out  of  the  town, 
however,  no  very  great  stretch  was  required.  William  and  Hester,  with  a  simultaneous  move- 
Thetownjumped  to  the  charitable  conclusion  that  tnent,  canght  hold  of  the  Quaker.  Anna 
Anna  Lynn   must  be  one  of  tbe  naughtiest  girls    screamed. 

under  the  sun;  imprudent,  ungrateful,  disobedi-  'What  is  it?' she  uttered,  terrified  at  the  sight 
cnt;  I  don't  know  what  else;  had  she  been  guilty  of  his  drawn,  contorted  face, 
of  scattering  poison  in  Atterly's  field,  and  so  'It  is  thy  work,' said  Hester,  less  placidly  than 
killed  all  the  lamb.s,  they  could  not  have  said  or  she  would  have  spoken  in  a  calmer  moment.  'If 
thought  worse.  All  joined  in  it,  charitable  and  thee  hast  saved  the  life  of  thy  friend,  Herbert 
uncharitable;  all  sorts  of  ill  notions  were  spread,  Dare,  thee  hast  probably  destroyed  that  of  thy 
and  got  taken  up.    Herbert  Dare,  you  may  be    father. ' 

very  sure,  came  in  for  his  share.  They  were  close  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Parry, 

The  news  had  been  taken  to  Mr.  Ashley's  man-    and  William  ordered  the  fly  to  stop.    The  sur- 
ufactory,  sent  by  the  astounded  Patience,  that   geon  was  at  home,  and  took  William's  place  in 
Richard  Winthorne  had  come  and  taken  away  ( it.     Samuel  Lynn  had  been  struck  with  paraly- 
Anna  and  Hester  Dell   to  give  testimony  on  the    sis. 
.rial  of  Herbert  Dare.    The  Quaker)  perplexed  j    William  was  at  tbe  house  before  thej  vrn*, 


MRS.  HALUBURTOIf «  TftOWBLES. 


71 


preparing  Patience.  Patience  was  so  far  restored 
to  bealtb  herself  as  to  be  able  to  walk  about  a 
little;  she  was  very  lame  yet. 

They  carried  Mr.  Lynn  to  his  room.  Anna  in 
her  humiliation  and  shame — the  having  to  give 
evidence,  and  such  evidence,  in  the  face  of  tjixat 
public  court,  had  been  nothing  less  to  her — ftfe^ 
to  her  own  chamber,  and  flung  herself,  dressed 
as  she  was,  on  the  carpet,  in  desperate  abandon- 
ment. William  saw  her  there  as  he  passed  it 
from  her  father's  room.  There  was  nobody  to 
attend  to  her,  for  they  were  occupied  with  Mr. 
Lynn.  It  was  no  moment  for  ceremony,  and 
William  entered  and  attempted  to  raise  her. 

'Let  me  be,  William — let -me  be.  I  only  want 
to  die.' 

'Anna,  child,  this  will  not  mend  the  past.  Do 
not  give  way  like  this.' 

But  she  resolutely  turned  from  him,  sobbing 
more  loudly,  'Only  to  die — only  to  die  !' 

William  went  for  his  mother,  and  gave  her  the 
outline  of  the  tale,  asking  her  to  go  into  the  house 
of  distress,  and  see  what  could  be  done.  Jane, 
in  her  utter  astonishment,  sought  farther  expla- 
nation. She  could  not  understand  him  in  tlie 
least. 

'I  assur*  you,  I  understand  it  nearly  as  little,' 
replied  William.  'Anna  was  locked  out  through 
some  mistake  of  Hester's,  it  appears,  and  Her- 
bert Dare  stayed  with  her.  That  it  will  be  the 
means  of  acquitting  him,  there  is  no  doubt;  but 
Helstonleigh  is  making  its  comments  freely.' 

Jane  went  in,  her  senses  in  a  maze.  She  found 
Patience  in  a  state  not  to  be  described;  she  found 
Anna  where  William  had  left  her,  reiterating 
the  same  cry,  'Oh,  that  I  were  dead— that  I  were 
dead!' 

Meanwjiile  the  trial  at  the  Guildhall  was  draw- 
ing to  its  close,  and  the  judge  proceeded  to  sum 
up.  Not  with  the  frantic  bursts  of  oratory  per- 
taining to  those  eloquent  gentlemen,  the  counsel, 
but  in  a  calm  tone  of  dispassionate  reasoning. 
He  placed  the  facts  concisely  before  the  jury, 
not  speaking  in  favour  of  the  prisoner,  but  can- 
didly avowing  that  he  did  not  see  how  they  could 
gel  over  the  evidence  of  the  prisoner's  witnesses, 
the  young  Quaker  lady  and  her  maid.  If  that 
was  to  be  believed — and  for  himself  he  fnlly  be- 
lieved it — then  the  prisoner  could  not  have  been 
guilty  of  the  murder,  and  was  clearly  entitled  to 
ao  acquittal.  It  was  six  o'clock  when  the  jury 
retired  to  deliberate. 

The  judge,  the  bar,  the  spectators,  sat  on,  or 
stood,  with  what  patience  they  might,  in  the 
crowded  and  heated  court.  On  the  fiat  of  tbosr 
twelve  men  hung  the  life  of  the  prisoner;  whether 
he  was  te  be  discharged  an  innoceol  tnan,  or  bung 
as  a  guilty  one.    lUpoBiDg  in  the  pocket  at  Sir 


William  Leader  was  a  certain  little  cap,  black  in 
colour,  innocuous  in  itself,  but  of  awful  signifi- 
cance when  brought  forth  by  the  hand  of  the  pre- 
siding judge.  Was  it  destined  to  be  brought 
forth  that  night  .> 

The  jury  were  coming  in  at  last.  Only  ah  hour 
had  they  remained  in  deliberation,  for  seven 
o'clock  was  booming  out  over  the  town.  It  had 
seemed  to  the  impatient  spectators  more  than 
two.  What  must  it  have  seemed  to  the  prisoner  } 
They  ranged  tiiemselves  in  their  boi,  and  the 
crier  proclaimed  silence. 

'Have  you  agreed  upon  your  rerdict,  gentlemen 
of  the  jury?' 

'We  have.' 

'How  say  you,  gentlemen,  guilty  or  not  guilty?' 

The  foreman  advanced  an  imperceptible  step, 
and  looked  at  the  judge,  speaking  deliberately — 

'My  lord,  we  find  him  Not  guilty.' 


CHAPTER  XX. 

X     COUCH      OF     PAIK. 

'William,  I  have  got  my  death-blow!  I  have 
got  my  death-blow !' 

The  speaker  was  Henry  Ashley.  Four  days 
bad  elapsed  subsequent  to  the  trial  of  Herbert 
Dare,  and  William  Halliburton  saw  him  now  for 
the  first  time  since  that  event.  What  with  mind 
and  body,  Henry  was  in  a  grievous  state  of  pain; 
all  William's  compassion  was  called  forth,  as  he 
leaned  over  his  couch. 

It  has  been  hinted  that  Helstonleigh,  in  its 
charity,  took  up  the  very  worst  view  of  the  case 
that  could  be  taken  up,  with  regard  to  Anna 
Lynn.  Had  she  gone  about  with  a  blazing  torch 
and  set  all  the  houses  on  fire,  their  inhabitants 
could  not  have  mounted  themselves  on  higher 
stilt!".  Somehow,  everybody  took  it  iip.  It  was 
like  those  apparently  well-authenticated  political 
reports  that  arrive  now  and  then  by  telegram, 
driving  the  Stock  Exchange,  or  the  Paris  Bourse, 
into  a  state  of  mad  belief  Nobody  thov-ghl  to 
doubt  it;  people  caught  up  the  notion  from  one 
another  as  they  catch  a  fever.  If  even  Samuel 
Lynn  had  looked  upon  it  in  the  worst  light,  bring- 
ing to  him  paralysis,  little  chance  was  there  that 
"thers  might  gazo.  throujjh  a  brighter  glass.  It 
had  half  killed  Henry  Athley;  and  the  words 
were    not,  in    point    of  fact,   lo  wiJ)    t,*   iher 

ounded.     'I  have  got  my  deatb-blow  .'  I  have  got 

lij  death-blow  !' 
'No,  70U  have  oot,'  w m  William'*  uiawer.  'h 


711  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES: 

is  a  blow— I  know  it— but  not  one  that  you  can  (bed  in  the  next  room  with  the  door  open.  There^ 
not  outlive.'  |  nobody  I  can  rave  myself  out  to  but  you, "and  you 

•Why  did  you  not  come  to  me?  Four  whole  i must  let  me  do  it,  unless  you  would  have  me  go 
days, and  you  have  never  been  near  the  house !'     |  quite  mad.     I  hope  I  shan't  be  here  long  to  be  a 

'Because  I  feared  that  you  would  be  putting  j  trouble  to  any  of  you  !' 
yourself  into  the  state  of  agitation  that  you  are  j  .;<^illiam  did  not  know  what  to  say.  He  be- 
now  doing,'  replied  William,  candidly.  Mr. 'Keved  there  was  nothing  for  it  at  present  but  to 
Ashley  said  to  me  on  the  Wednesday,  "Henry  ;' let  him 'rave  himself  out.'  'But  I  wish,' he  said, 
has  one  of  his  bad  attacks  again."  I  knew  it  to,' aloud,  in  continuation  of  the  bent  of  his  own 
be  more  the  mind  than  the  body,  this  time,  and  I  ]  thoughts,  'that  you  would  be  a  little  rational  over 
deemed  it  well  that  you  should  be  left  in  quiet.  *>  it.' 
There's  nobody  you  can  talk  of  it  to,  but  me.'       \     'Stop  a  bit.     Did  you  ever  experience  a  blow 

'Your  staying  away  has  not  served  your  pur- /like  this?' 
pose,  then.    My  father  came  to  me  with  the  de-  <     'No,  indeed.' 

taili,  thinking  to  divert  me  for  a  moment  from^  '■Then  don't  hold  forth  to  me,  I  say.  You  do 
my  bodily  pain;  never  supposing  that  each  word  ^ not  understand.  It  was  all  the  joy  I  had  on 
was  as  a  dagger  plunged  into  my  very  being.  My  ^ earth.' 

mother  came,  with  this  scrap  of  news,  or  the  ',     'You  must  learn  to  find  other  joys;  other ' 

other  scrap.  Mary  came,  wondering  and  eager, '/  'The  despicable  villain  !'  broke  forth  Henry, 
asking  information  at  second-hand;  mamma  was  ;;  the  heat-drops  welling  up  on  his  brow,  as  they 
mysterious  over  it,  and  would  not  tell  her.  Mary  :;  had  welled  up  on  Anna's  when  before  the  judge; 
cannot  credit  ill  of  Anna;  she  has  as  great  aj'the  shame-faced,  cowardly  villain!  Was  she 
trust  in  her  still  as  I  had.  As  I  had!  Oh,  Wil-j;not  Samuel  Lynn's  child,  and  my  sister's  friend? 
liam !  she  was  my  object  in  life  !  She  was  all  my ',  What  possessed  the  jury  to  acquit  him  ?  Did  they 
future — my  world — my  heaven!'  \  think  an  end  of  rope  too  good  for  his  neck?' 

'Now  you  know  you  will  suffer  for  this  excite- ;;     «He  was  proved  innocent  of  the  murder.    If  he 

ment,'  cried  William,  almost  as  he  would  have /has  any  conscience ' 

said  it  to  a  wayward  child.  ;;     'What's  that?' fiercely  Interrupted  Henry  Ash- 

He  might  as  well  have  talked  to  the  wind,  j ley.    'JJe  a  conscience!    I  don't  know  what  you 
Henry  neither  heard  nor  heeded  him.    He  cen-  ^  are  dreaming  of.    Is  he  going  to  stop  in  Helston- 
tinued,  his  manner  as  full  of  agitation  as  his  heigh:' 
mind /     'I  conclude  so.    He  resumed  his  place  quietly 

'I  am  not  as  other  men.    You  can  go  forth,  all  /  in  his  father's  office  the  day  after  the  trial.  He  is 
of  you,  into  the  world,  to  pursue  your  pleasures, ;;  in  London  now,  but  only  temporarily, 
your  amusements.  I  am  confined  here.  But  what  j;     'Resumed  hi&  place  quietly.    What  was  the 
mattered  it?    Did  I  envy  you?    No.    While  I ;; mob  about,  then ?' 
had  her  to  think  of,  I  was  happier  than  you.'        <     rpj^g  question  was  put  so  quaintly,  in  such  con- 

'Had  this  not  happened,  it  might  have  gone  ^fljing  simplicity,  that  a  smile  rose  to  William's 
cross  for  you  in  some  other  way,  and  so  have', face.  'In  awe  of  the  police,  I  expect,' he  an- 
come  to  the  same.'  ^swered.    'The  Dares,  while  his  fate  was  uncer- 

'Andnowit  is  over,' reiterated  Henry,  paying;  tain,  have  been  rusticating  in  the  shade.  Cyril 
no  attention  to  the  remark.  'It  is  over,  and  gone;<  jgld  me  to-day,  that  now  that  the  accusation  was 
and  I— I  wish,  William,  I  had  gone  with  it.'        ;!  proved  to  have  been  false,  they  were  "coming 

'I  wish  you  would  be  reasonable.'  ;;  out"  again.' 

'Don't  preach.    You  active  men,  with  your  |     'Coming  out  in  what?    Villainy?' 
multifarious  objects  and  interests  in  life,  cannot       'He  left  the  "what"  to  be  inferred.    In  gran - 
kBOW  what  it  is  for  one  like  me,  shut  out  from  |  desr,  I  expect.     The  established  innocence  of 

the    world,    to  lovt.    I    tell   you,    William,    it  j  Her ' 

was  literally  my  life;  the  core  of  my  life;  my  all.  \  'If  you  apply  that  word  to  the  man,  William 
I  am  not  sure  but  I  have  been  mad  ever  since.'     '  Halliburton,  you  are  as  black  as  he  is.' 

•I  am  not  sure  but  you  are  mad  now,'  returned  William  remembered  Henry's  tribulation  both 
William,  believing  that  to  humour  him  might  be  of  mind  and  body,  and  went  on  without  the 
the  worst  plan  he  could  adopt.  shadow  of  a  retort. 

'I  dare  say  I  am,'  was  the  unsatisfactory  an-       'I  apply  it  to  him  in  relation  to  the  crime  of 

'Four  days,  and  I  have  had  to  bury  it  all    which  he  was  charged.     His  acquittal  and  jre- 

*^«i'inme'    I  could  not  wail  it  out  to  my  own    lease  have  caused  the  Dares  to  bold  up  their 

TiUow  at  night;  for  they  concluded  it  was  one  of  heads  again.    But  they  haTO  lost  caste  in  Htl- 

my  bad  attacks,  and  old  nurs»  w^is  posted  in  the  \  itonleigh.' 


ants.  HALLfBURTOIf «  TftOUBLBB. 


73 


'Caste !'  was  the  scornful  ejaculation  of  Henry  '  resumed  Mary.  'How  can  he  have  done  it?  Ho 
Ashley.  'They  never  had  any  caste  to  lose,  is  not  like  one  who  poes  out  into  the  world — who 
Does  the  master  intend  to  retaiu  Cyril  in  the  man- ':  has  lo  meet  with  cares  and  checks^  You  do  not 
Ufactory."  J  speak,'    she  added,    looking   at    William.     'Is  it 

'I  hare  heard  nothing  to  the  contrary.  If  he  f  thai  you  will  not  tell  me,  or  do  you  know  no- 
retained  him  while  the  accusation  was  hanging 'thing.'' 

over  Herbert  Dare's  head,  he  will  not  be  likely  (      William  lowered  his  voice.     'I  can  only  say 
to  discard  hinu  now  it  is  removed.'  ;  that,  should  there  be  anjlliing  of  the  sort  you 

'Removed!'  shrieked  Henry.  'If  one  accusa- /  mention,  the  kinder  course  for  Henry — indeed, 
tien  has  been  removed,  has  not  a  worse  taken  its  j  the  only  course — will  be,  not  to  allow  hitn  to 
place }'  >  perceive  that  you  suspect  it.     Conceal  the  iHs- 

'VVould  it  be  just  to  visit  on  one  brother  the  >  picion  both  from  him  and  from  others.  Remem- 
sins  of  another.''  )  Oer  his  excessive  sensitiveness.     When  he  sees 

'A  nice  pairof  brothers  they  are  !'  cried  Henry,  ioause  to  hide  his  feelings,  it  would  be  almost  as 
in  the  sharp,  petulant  manner  habitual  to  him,  |  death  to  him  to  have  them  penetrated.' 
when  racked  with  pain.  'How  will  Samuel  Lynn  '     *I  think  you  must  bo  in  his  full  confidence,' ob- 
likc  the  company  of  Cyril  Dare  by  his  side  in  the  J  served  Mary,  looking  at  William, 
manufactory,  when  he  gets  well  again  ."'  I     'Pretty  well  so,'  he  answered,  with  %  passing 

William  shook  his  head.     The  considerations  pmilo. 
were  not  for  him.     They  were  Mr.  Ashley's.  /     'Then,  if  he  has  any  secret  grief,  will  you  try 

'You  heard  her  give  her  evidence.''  resumed  ^  ^nd  soothe  it  to  himr' 
Henry,  breaking  a  pause.  i     'With  all  my  beot  endeavours.'  earnestly  spoke 

'Most  of  it.'  \  William,     But  there  was  not  the  least  apparent 

'Tell  it  me.'  /  lecessily  for  his  taking  Mary  Ashley's  hand  be- 

'No,  Henry;  it  would  not  do  you  good  to  hcar;i*een  his  own,  and  pressing  it  there  while  he 
it.'  ;said  it,  any   more  than  there  was  necessity  for 

'Tell  it  me,  I  say,' persi.sted  Henry,  wilfully.  ;  that  vivid   blush  of  hers,  as  she  turned  into  the 
'I  know  it  in  substance.     1  want  to  have   it  re-   »^'"*w'"6-''ooni- 
peated  over  to  me,  word  for  word.'  >     But  you  must  be  anxious  to  hcarof  Anna  Lynn. 

•  But »  ^  Poor  Anna!  who  had  fallen  so  terribly   into  the 

Henry  suddenly  raised  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  \  ^'^^  '^ooks  of  the  lown,  without  really  much  de- 
William's  lips,  with  a  warning  movement.  He  ^^rving  it.  It  was  a  most  unlucky  eonhttempn, 
turned,  and  saw  Mary  Ashley.  !  ^^^  having  got  locked  out;  it  was  a  ^till  more  un. 


•Take  her  back  to  the  drawing-room,  William,' 


fortunate  sequel,  the  having  to  confess  to  it  on  the 
public  trial.     t"he  was  not  a  pattern  of  goodness. 


he  whispered,     'i  can  bear  nobody  but  you  about ;  .  .  r       j     i    j      .      .     ..        ,1  .     k„ 

.r  .  ^.         ..  .    ■  '  It  must  be  confessed — had  not  yet   attained  to  be 

me  now.     Not  yet,  Mary,' he  added  aloud,  mo-     ..        -.       ji       tu  .„.    f„  ,i„m 

......  ,  ,       ,  /that  perfect  model,  which  expects,  as  of  a  right, 

tioniNg  rus  sister  away  with  his  hand.   'Notnow.'!  ,      •      ,1  1  .1  1  „j..„      c^.^ 

-,  ■'   .  .  .        .  '^a  niche  in   the  muridane  saintly    calendar.     She 


Mary  halted  in  indecision.     William  advanced 
to  her,  placed  her  hand  within   his  arm,  and  ltd 


tly 

was  repreheiisibiy  vain;  she  delighted  in  plague- 
)  ing  Patience;  and  she   took   to  run   out  into  the 


her,  somewhat  summarily,  from  the  room-              -' ^   ■ .       i         .   i,   j   u         r      u  ..       41    >    u.  i^..i 
,,             ...           •;                    ;                        fieM,  when  it  had  been  far  better  that  she  bad 
'I  am  only  obeying  orders,   Miss  Ashley,' soid ,           •      1     .u              'ru                        .    ^i^h^m  a. 
,         ._,.                ■'     "          ,      ,                  .•''           ;  remained  at  home.     The  running  out  entailed  de- 
he.     'They  are  lo  see  you  back  to  the  drawing-^       .        j  .     •        t.  .    •.       .    1  j .k  > 

•^  •'  ^  'celt   and    some   storie?;   but   it   entailed  nothing 

room.'  '  .,,....  ■         L 

,-  ,-  .  .  ,  ;  worse,  and  nelbtonleigh  need  not  nave  set  its  ic- 

'If  Henry  can  bear  you  with  him,  he  mights  .      , 

,  ,  ■'  ( '^''®  back  up. 

-.      ,'             .       ,.        ,.  ;      Never  had  there  been  a  more  forcible  illustra- 

' You  know  what  hit  whims  and   fancies  are.     ■         r  .1.       u                 ./-•            j          u    1      _ 

.       ^     .        ^    .       .  •    lion  of  the  old  saung,  'Give  a  dog  a  bad  name, 

when  he  IS  sunering. '  <       ,   ,           ...                 ...                    ,,,. 

,,     .                                 .     ,  .                             ;  ind   hang   him,     than    in    this    instance.     When 

'Is  there  not  a  particu'arly  good  underrfandine    ...  ,,         n     ,1  ..    j  .   u    «          .1    .  n     u     . 

.                            ,•,.           ,    ^  "»  ti  lu'Ti  "'"""H& ,  William  llalihurlon  hs»d  told  Aina  that  Herbert 

between  you  and  Henry .'   she  pointedly  a»kcd.      ■  ,..  .  ,  ..       u    j  j      .  v. 

J  *  J  Br«^u,        Q^j-c  was  not  a  good  man,  liiat  he  did  not  bear  n 

'Yes;  we  understand  each  other  perfectly. '  ,  go^,j  name,  he  had  told  her  the  siricl  iiuth.  Fcr 
'Well,  then,  tell  me — what  is  it  that  i?*  the  mat-  inal  >ery  reason  a  private  intimacy  with  him  wa4 
ter  with  him  this  lime.'  I  do  not  like  in  my  so  j  u' de-irahle,  however  ii.noct^iit  it  nifthi  be,  how- 
to  mamma,  biicause  she  might  call  nie  fanciful,  I  trver  innocent  it  tra«,  in  il-e:f;  »>  d  for  that  very 
but  it  appears  to  me  that  Henry's  illness  i»  more  (ea«m  iliil  ll.Uion'eiich  look  ai  11  tl.rougit  tBtoky 
on  the  mind  than  on  the  body.'  ]»p«ctarlc«.     I!..d  -l.u   been   l«ckidont   all  nighl, 

William  made  no  reply.  ;  instead  of  hair    a    one,    with  ^olll« body  in  belter 

'And   yei,    1    cannot    imagine    it  poriible  for '  odour,  HcUloolei^h  bad  not  put  up  it«  •eorsfol 
Henry  to  have  piokad  up  any  anaoyancaor  fri»f,'   artti. 
18 


T4 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TR0UBLE8. 


Not  a  soul  seemed  to  cast  so  tnuch  as  a  good  '■>  lest  a  public  reprimand  should  be  i/»  store  for  her, 
word  or  a  charitable  thought  to  him  in  the  mat-  delivered  at  meeting:  on  First  Day;  but  she  saw 
ter  Did  he  des-rvc  none?  Huwevrr  thought- { no  reason  why  everybody  ehould  continue  croii 
less  or  reprehens  bit-  his  conduct  wa«,  in  drawing  |  with  her  a.t  home. 

Anna  into  'hose  field  promenade*,  when  the  ex-\  She  happened  to  be  alone  with  her  father  when 
plosion  came  he  met  it  as  a  ger^iiemsin.  Many  ujhe  first  recovered  consciousness.  Some  fifteen 
one,  more  renowned  for  the  o:ii(Unal  graces  thai  )  lays  had  elapsed  since  the  trial  But  for  the  fact 
was  Herbert  Dare,  might  h;.\e  sp'iken  out  at  once  j  of  her  being  with  him,  a  difficulty  might  hare 
and  cleared  himself  at  'he  expeii>ie  of  makini  J  b^en  espprierced  to  get  her  there  She  dreaded 
known  Anna's  unlucky  escapade.  Not  so  he.  A  ^  his  anger,  his  reproach,  more  than  anything.  So 
doubt  may  have  b»  en  upon  hm  that,  wtre  it  be- j  ong  as  he  Jay  without  his  senses,  knowing  her 
trayed,  Hclstonlei^h  mii;ht  be  for  casting  a  tairi  |  lot.  so  long  was  she  content  to  sit.  watching.  She 
on  her  fair  name;  and  he  strove  to  save  it.  Ff'  /  vas  seated  bv  the  b';dside,  in  her  usual  listless 
suflVred  the  brand  of  murdf  rer  to  be  attached  to  <  altitude,  her  head  and  her  eyes  cast  down,  when 
him — tie  languished  for  many  weeks  in  prison  a^-  jher  father's  hand,  not  the  one  affected,  was  sud- 
a  common  cri-iinal — ail  to  save  it.  Me  all  bii'  Plenty  lifted,  and  laid  upon  her's.  which  rested  on 
went  to  the  scaflbid  to  save  it.  He  might  have  Hhe  counterpane.  Startled,  Anna  turned  her 
called  Anna  and  Hester  Dell  forward  at  the  in- ^^aze  upon  him,  and  she  saw  that  his  intellect* 
quest,  at  the  preliminary  examination  before  the  ^  ivere  restored.  With  a  suppressed  cry  of  dis- 
magistrales,  and  thus  have  cleared  himself;  but  ^  may,  she  would  have  flown  away,  but  he  clasped 
he  would  not.  While  there  was  a  chance  of  his  /  his  fingers  round  hers, 
innocence   being  brought  to   light   in  aiiy  other;!      'Anna!' 

manner,  he  would  not  call  on  Anna.  He  let  tht  ^  She  sunk  down  on  her  knees,  shaking  as  if  in 
odium  settle  upon  his  head;  he  went  to  prison  ;  ;in  ague  fit,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  clothes, 
hoping  that  be  should  be  exculpated  in  some  dif-  <  Samuel  Lynn  stretched  forth  his  hand  and  put  it 
ferent  way.     There    was   a   generous,  chivalri*' ^  on  her  head. 

feeling  in  this,  which  Helslonleigh  could  not  un-  \  «Thou  art  my  own  child,  Anna;  thy  mother  left 
derstand,  when  emanating  from  Herbert  Dare.  ^ 'hee  to  me  for  good  and  for  ill;  and  1  will  stand 
and  they  declined  to  give  him  credit  for  it.  Thex  f  ^y  thee  in  thy  sorrow.' 

preferred  to  look  at  the  afTuir  altogether  in  a  dif-'.  She  burst  into  a  s'orm  of  hysterical  tears.  He 
ferent  light,  and  to  lavish  hard  names  upon  it.  let  it  have  its  course;  he  drew  her  wet  face  to 
Every  soul  was  alike;  there  was  no  exception;  |his,  and  kissed  it;  he  talked  1o  her  soothingly, 
Samuel  Lynn,  and  all  el-e  in  Helstonleigh.  [never  speaking  a  single  word  of  reproach;  and 
They  caught  the  epidemic,  I  say,  from  one  an- 'Anna  overgot  her  fear  and  her  sobs.  She  knelt 
other.  jdown  by  the  bed  still,  and   let  her  cheek  rest  on 

'.the  counterpane. 

/     'It  has  nearly  killed  me,'  he  murmured,  after  a 
♦  »»  jWhile.     'But  I  pray  for  life;  I  will  struggle  hard 

:'to  live,  that   thee   may'st  have   one   protector. 

l  Friends  and  foes  may  cast  reproach  to  thee,  but 
CHAPTER  XXL  ^  I  will  not.' 

]     'Why  should  they  cast  reproach  to  me,  father  f' 
A   RAT   OF   LIGHT.  li  returned  Anna,  With  a  little  spice  of  resentment. 

^'I  have  not  harmed  them.' 
The  first  brunt  of  the  edge  worn  off,  Anna  <;     .jjo,  child,  thee  hast  not;  only  thyself.    I  will 
grew  cross      She    did    not  see   why   everybody  ^  help  thee  to  bear  the  reproach.     Thou  art  my 
should  be  blaming  her.     Wl  at  had  so  sadly  pros-;! own  child.' 

tr«ted  herself  was  the  shame  of  having  to  ap-<  .But  there's  nothing  for  them  to  reproach  me 
pear  before  the  public  court;  to  stand  in  it  and  ;  with,'  she  reiterated,  her  face  pushed  deeper 
give  her  evidence.  The  excitement,  the  shame,  ;  into  the  counterpane.  'It  was  not  pleasant  to 
combined  with  the  terrifying  illness  of  her  father,  .'stand  there— but  it  is  over.  And  they  need  not 
brought  on,  as  Hester  told  her,  through  her,  had  ; reflect  upon  me  for  it.'  ' 
sent  her  into  a  wild   state    of   contrition   and  ', 


'What  is  over.'    To  stand  where?' he  asked, 
alarm.    Little   wonder  that  she  wished  herself  ^     'At  the  Guildhall,  on  the  trial.' 
dead.  '(^     «It  is  not  that  that  people  will  reproach  thee 

She  sat,  for  the  most  part,  in  her  father's  room,  .with,  Anna.     It  was  not  a  nice  thing  for  thee; 
never  moving  from  his  bec'side,  unless  disturbed  ■:  but  that,  in  itself,  brings  no  reproach.' 
from  it;  never  speaking;  eating  only  when  food  ;      Anna  lifted  her  bead  wonderingly. 
wub  put  before  her.    Anna  was  in  grievous  fear  t     'What  does,  then  ?  she  uttwed. 


ma.  HALLIBURTON'S  TAOUBLES.  7g 

He  did  not  answer.  He  only  closed  his  eyes,  'had  a  tolerably  bufy  time  of  It.  He  had  ajsumed 
a  deep  groau  bursting  from  the  very  depths  of  his  '  Samuel  Lj  nn's  place  in  the  manufactory  by  Mr. 
heart.  It  came  into  Anna's  mind  that  he  must 'Ashley's  orders,  hend  of  all  things,  under  the 
be  thinking  of  her  previous  acquaintance  with  J  master.  Cyril  ground  liis  teeth  at  this;  he  looked 
Herbert  Dare;  of  her  stolen  promenades  in  the  ;upon  it  as  a  slight  to  himself;  but  Cyril  had  no 
fieid  by  twilight.  'power  to  alter  it. 

•Oh,  father,  don't  thee  be  angry  with  me  .''she ';  William  found  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashley  alone, 
implored,  {he  tears  streaming  down  from  her  ;  ^''^'^J  *"  o"^-  He  sat  with  ihem  a  few  min- 
eyes.  'it  was  no  harm;  it  was  not,  indeed.  Thee  ;"les,  talking  of  Anna,  and  then  rose  to  go  to  tho 
might  have  been  present  always,  fi>r  all  the  harm  chamber  of  Henry, 
there  was,  and  I  wish  thee  had  been.  Why  should!  '^^^^  '"  ^^^^^^  evening?' he  inquired, 
thee  think  anger  of  it?  There  was  no  moreharu.  ^  *^"  ^'"^  ^«^'*y  fractious,'  was  the  reply  of  Mr. 
in  my  talking  with  hJm  now  and  then  in  the  field,  i  ^^^'^^  •William,  you  have  great  influence  over 
than  there  was  in  my  lalkirigwith  him  in  Marga-;^^*™-  ^  W'*^  3°"  could  persuado  him  to  give  vay 
ret  Ashley's  sitting-room.'  ^'^^s-    ^^  is  not  ill  enough,  so  far  as  we  can  see, 

Something  in  the  simple  words,  in  the  tone,  in  ^'"  '^^^P  ^'»  room;  but  we  cannot  get  him  out  of 

( I*  f 
the   manner    altogether,    caused    the    Quaker's' 

heart  to  leap  within  him.  Had  he  been  making;  Henry  was  in  one  of  his  depressed  moods,  ex- 
a  molehill  into  a  mountain?  Surely,  yes!  But /'"^^'^^'^  dispinlt;d  and  irritable, 
what  else  he  would  have  said  or  done,  what ;  '^'^»  ^o  >""  ^a^e  come  !' he  burst  forth  as  Wil- 
questions  asked,  cannot  be  known,  for  they  were  ''^"^  entered.  'I  should  be  ashamed  to  neglect  a 
interrupted  by  a  visit  from  William  Halliburton.  ^'^'^  fellow  as  you  neglect  me.  If  I  were  well 
Anwa  stole  away.  '^"'^  strong,  and  you  ill,  you  would  find  it  differ- 

'  ent  ' 
William  was  full  of  hearty  congratulation  on  /       * 

the  visible  .mprovement-ihe,  so  far.  restoration  i     '^  ''""'^  ^  """   ''**®''  acl^nowledged   William. 

to^lth.     The   Quaker   murmured  some  half- 1!^^™"'='  ^J"""  ^°°''  "P  ^  "^l'«  °^  ^y  t'™«.  «nd  I 

inarticulate  words,  indicating  sometbitg  t^  the  1''^^^^^^  ";"*" '''''°5/°'"«  '^'°"'«»  "'  the  drawing- 

effect  that   he   might  not  have    been  ill,  but  fori      r^^  %,  , 

»  1  •  •  _    r  .u  .1  I    !     'Of  course?   was  the  fractious  answer.     'Anv. 

taking  up  a  worse  view  of  the  case  than,  as  he!,     ,    ,    .  ^j  "  «  •mw.iuus  auswcr.      Any- 

.    ,■        .  ..        ,,  •,   J  'body  before  me. 

believed  now,  it  really  merited.  >       ^ 

,„,,.        ,  .  ..  1  J  ,     1   •    u-    '     '°a"'"el  Lynn  is  a  pre8tdealbeller,'conlinued 

William  leaned  over   him;  a  glad  look  in  his  /  VViiiia...      .f4;.  ,,.;„  i  ;    ,     .        i, 
,  .    ,  .    ,  .  '  vvjiiiam.     "His  minil  is  restored 

eye;  a  glad  sound  \a  his  low  voice.  '     ',     «„•..„  „„„„       ,  ,.,  .      , 

J    '      ^  Henry  received  tiie  news  ungraciously,  making 

'My  mother  has  been  telling  Patience  so  to- ;  no  rejoinder;  but  his  sid«  was  iwitd.ing  w.ih 
day.  She,  my  mother,  is  convinced  now  lhat|pain.  'How  is  s/if  ?'  he  asked.  Ms  the  shame 
very  exaggerated  blame   was   cast  to  Anna.     It ;  fretlmg  out  her  life?' 

was  foolish  of  her,  of  course,  to  fall  into  the/  .Aot  at  all.  She  is  very  well  As  to  shsme— 
habit  of  running  to  the  field;  but  the  locking  out  | as  you  call  it-I  believe  she  has  not  taken  much 
mitjht  have  happened    to  any  one.     My  mother 'to  herself. ' 

told  me  this,  not  half-an-hour  ago.    Shehasseen;     Ml  will  kill  her:  you'll   see.    The  sooner  the 
and  talked   to    Anna   frequently  ihis  last  day  or  ;  belter  for  her,  I  »honId  say  ' 
two,  and  has  drawn  her  own  poMlive  d.  ducHoni  ;'      W,l|,.m  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa,  on 
My  mother  is  vexed  with  herself  for  having  fallen  ;  which  the  invalid  was  lymg.     -Henry.  Id  .et  you 
into  the  p  -puar  blame.'  right  upon  a  p..,nl.  if  I  thought  it  would  be  ex 

•A,!'  uttered  Samuel  Lynn.  'There i,  blame  ,p,dient  You  do  go  into  fi„  c.f  exciteoeot  .J 
abroad,  then?     I  thought  there  was.'  ,g,,^l^  ,hat  it  is  dangerous  to^peak.• 

'People  will  come  to  their  senses  in  good  lime,' ;  'Tell  out  anythinjr  jou  have  to  tell.  Tell  mf 
was  William's  answer.     '.Never  doubt  it.'  jifyou  choose,  that  the   house   is  on   fire,  end  I 

The  Quaker  raised  bis  feeble  hand,  and  laid  it  I  must  befitchcd  out  «(  the  window  to  escape  it. 
upon  William's.  ;  It  would  make  no  i.i.prcssipo  upon  mp.  My  6ti  of 

'The  Ashley's— have  they  blamed?'  /exciJCmenl  have  passed  away  with  Aor;a  Lyuft.' 

'I  fear  they  have.,'  was  tho  only  reply  he  could  ;     'My  news  r*  lale^  to  Anna.'  a 

make.in  his  strict  truth.  i     'What  if  .i  does?    She  has  pataed  away  /'•r' 

•Then.  William,  thee  go  to  them.    Go  to  ibcm  f  m«.' 
now,  and  set  them  right.'  '     MIelstonlcigh,  in  its  n.ual   hasly  fashion    of 

He  was  already  going,  for  he  was  engaged  to  jimping  to  concIusioi»,%»s  j..mptd  lo  a  false 
the  Ashleys  that  evening.  Between  Henry  Ash-';  one,'  continued  WillUL.  ±Tbere  has  been  no 
ley,  the  men  at  East's,  and  his  own  studies,  whici.  grounds  for  the  gnat^Mie  cakt  to  Aaaa:  except 
k«  would  Dot  wholly  oeglect,  WiiUaio't  eveDUigi ,  la  l^e  miDdt  of  a  cbaritMle public' 


76  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TftOtJBLfiS. 

<A  fact:'  asked  Henry,  after  a  pause.  {abroad,  and  he  made  rather  a  summary  exit  from 

'There's  not  a  s-hade  of  doubt  of  i.'  !  Helslonleigh,  to  enter  upori  it.     A  friend  of  Her- 

He   received   the  answer  wiih  equanimity;  it' bert's,  wiio  had  gone  over  to  live  in  HolJand,  and 

maybe  said,  with   apathy.     And  turning  on  his  j  wilti  whom  he  was  in   frequent  coriCHpondence, 

couch,  he  drew  tlie  coverlid  over  him,  repeating  i  wrote  and  offered  him  a  situation  in  a  merchant's 

the  words   previously  spoken:  'She  has  passed  <;  house  in  Rotterdam,   as  'English  clerk.'    The 

aw'ay  for  me.'  ^^ offer  came  in  answer  to  a  hint,  of  perhaps  more 

^than  a  hint,  from   Herbert,  that  a  year  or  two's 

^sojourn  abroad  would  be  acceptable.     He'd  get 

m-j.     <■»     --  ^ a  good  salary,  if  he  proved  himself  equal  to  the 

^.duties,  the  information  stated,  and  might  rise  in 

fit,  if  he  chose  to  stop.     Herbert  wrote,  off-handj 

CHAPT£R  XXU  ''^°  secure  it,  and  then  told  his  father  what  be  had 

'done. 

MR.  DKLTK8  DOWN  OK  MIS  BEAM  BKOt.  ]     'Go  into   a  house  at  Rotterdam,  as  i)|)g1ish 

^ clerk  !' repeated  Mr.  Dare,  unable  to  credit  bis 
Samuel  Lvnn  grew  better,  and  Mr.  Ashley,  in  j  ^^„  ^^^^      .  j.^^  ^  ^1^^,,^ ,, 

his  considerate  kindness,  proposed  that  he  should  ;     .y^j^^^  ^^  j  ^^  ^^,,  ^^j^^^  Herbert.       'Since  I 

reside  abroad  for  a  few  months  in  the  neighbour- J  ^^^^g  o^^  ^f  ^^^^^^^,  j^^^j^g  j^j^  ^^^^^^  j„  ^^^  ^j. 

hood  of  Annonay,  to  watch  the  skin  market.  and^^^,^ji^„  ^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^^  p^j^^^^^  .^.j^i^^  ^^^^  ^^.^j^, 

pick  up  skins  that  would  be  suitable  for  their  use  f  g„^j  „p„„  ^^      I  ^^  ^^^  ^  ^^^^^  ^j^^,^  ^^^  ^^^,^,^ 

Anna   and   Patience   were   to    accompany  him.  j  ^  p^^^_^j^^^  ^j^^^   ^^  ^^„  scores,  and  that  for 

Anna  had  somewhat  regained  her  footing  in  the|  ^j^j^^  ^  ^^  ,j^^,^  f^^_f^^  p^^^  ^^^j^^^^,    p^^p,^ 

good  graces  of  the  gossipp^rs.     That  she  d.d  so,,<  ^^„.^  ^^.^  ^^.^^  ,^„g^^.  ^^^  j  j^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^ 

was  partly  owing  to  the  indignant  defence  of  her?  ^^^  ^^^  debtor  side  of  the  prison.' 

entered  upon  by  Herbert  Dare.     Herbert  did  be- J     ^^^^  ^^^^  standing  in   the  front  room  of,^ 

have  well  in  this  case,  and  he  must  have  his  due  ]  ^^^^^      ^^    j^^^^,^  business  appeared  to  be  con- 

Upon   his  return   from  London,  wl'i'her  he  had  j  ^jj^^^^,,y  ^^j,,^^  ^^^   ^^^   ^^^   ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^ 

tone  soon  after  the  termination  of  the  trial,  re- 1  u  „j     „  ...      r\r  «u«   ♦  i.  i- 

°  '  Uibure  on   its  hands   now.     Of  the   two   clerks 

maining  away  a  week  or  two,  he  found  what  a  \ .  „„.      „    ^    .  l,„i  j       .i,^  «.k«..  .„„„  «.,.     c^™.. 
o         J  '  J  kept,  one  h>id  holiday,  the  other  was  out.    Some- 

very   charitable   ovation    Helstonleigh    was  be-^  ^^^^^  ^.^^^  ^j^j^  ^^^  ^^^^^^,^^^  ^^^j^^^^^  ^^^^^^^^^ 

.towing  upon    Anna    Lynn.     He  met  it  with  a  j  p^^p,^  ^^^^  g^„^j„g  ^^^  ^^  ^^^  j,^^^^    Mr.  Dare 

storm  of  indignation;  he  bade  them  think  as  bad  <  ,         ,        •     .  .u  <■  4U       •   j       /• 

"  o  '  J  leaned  against  the  corner  of  the  window-frame, 

i)      im   as       ey       o  .,         i  .1    { matching  the  passers-by,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 

i'urke  if  they  liked;  but  to  keep  their  mistaken  j      j     u,  .  ■   1     1 u„f„ 

_  /  '  .,     '       ,.  ,        ^  and  a  blank  look  on  his  face, 

tongues  off  Anna.     What  with  one  thing  and  an-/       ,,  ,. ,    ,  .    .  rr    ,^     , 

°  .  ,,  J  ,  jj  u     •     ♦    '     '  I  ou  say  you  can  t  help  me,  sir,' Herbert  con- 

other,  some  of  the  scandal-mongers  did  begin  to^   .  f  ■'■'  ' 

think  they  had  been  too  hasty,  and  withdrew  their,  ;^       ,,    '  ,  ,        ,        ^  .      ^ 

„  /  .»        f  \       ^  '/     'You  know!  can't;  sufficiently  to  do  any  good,' 

censure.     Some   (as  a   matter  of  course,)  pre-       ^         ,  .,     t^  .r        .  ,  .  - 

,  ^     ,     ,  ,     ,.,,        J       •   •  •     J  J-  /returned  Mr.  Dare.     'I  am  too  much  pressed  for 

Jerred  to  doubt  still;  and  opinions  remamed  di-(  ,^     ^      ,  .  ,. 

...  ^  money  myself.     Look  at  the  expnses  attending 

"lleistonleigh  took  up  the  gossip  on  ^"ot^^r  f  ^^^'J^^'j^^^"^  ^^^f  embarrassed  enough  before. 

score — that   of  Mr.    Ashley's    sending   Samuel  j    <^"     °        P  j      • 

Lynn  abroad,  as  his  skin  buyer,  for  an  indefinite  J     '^^  ^''^"'^^  ^o  me,  too,  that  you  want  me  gone 

period.     'A  famous  trade   Ashley  must  have,  toi ''■°'"  ^^'■®-' 

go  to  that  expense!'  grumbled  some  of  the  en-j     '^  ^*^«  °°t  '^^'^  »"''  ^^"^"7  responded    Mr. 

vious   manufacturers.     True;  he  had  a  famous'        ®* 

trade.  And  if  he  had  not  had  one,  he  might  have  <     ''^"^  ^old  me  the  other  day  that  it  was  my 

sent  him  all  the  same.    Helslonleigh  never  knew  :  presence  in  the  oflBce  which  scared  clients  from 

the  considerate  benevolence  of  heart  of  Thomas  ; 

Ashley.    The  journey  was  fully  decided  upon;!      ^r.  Dare  could  not  deny  the  fact.     He  had 

and  Samuel  Lynn  had  an  application  from  a  mem-  \  ^^''^  ''•    ^'^^^'"^  •"«''«'  ^«  ^^^  ^*^°"6^^  '''  ^"'^  '^'^ 

ber  of  his  own  persuasion,  to  rent  his  house,  fur-  5  """•     '^  ^*""°t  ^^'^  ^^^^  «^^«  '^  "  ^^^^  '*  '^"P" 

mshed,  for  the  term  of  his  absence.  He  was  glad  ;  *"«  *'"«"'*  ^^^y-'  ^«  '"'"J"'"**^-     '^^  ^*^«  °<>* 

10  accept  the  accommodation.  p''"*  «  ^°^«"  '"  «'"'^«'  ^^^  ^"^'• 

But,  before  Mr.  Lynn  and  his  family  started,       'It  is  a  slack  season  of  the  year.' 
Helstonleigh  was  fated  to  sustain  another  loss,  in        'Maybe,'  shortly  answered   Mr.  Dare.     'Slack 
the  person  of  Herbert  Dare/     Herbert  contrived  |  as  it  is,  there's  some  business  astir,  but  people 
tu  set  somo  sort  of  a  niusion  intrusted  to  kim  <  are  goios  elsewhere  to  set  it  done;  those,  too, 


MRS.  HALUBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


77 


who  have  never,  for  years,  been  near  anybody       'Fifty  pounds.' 

but  us.     The  truth   is,  Herbert,  you  fell  into  bad  !      'I  can't  do  it,  Herbert,' was  the  prompt  an- 

odour  with  the  town  on  the  day  of  the  trial;  and    »wer. 

that  you  must  know.     Though  acquitted  of  the  ;      *  I  must  have  it,' if  I  am  to  go,' was  Herbert's 

murder,  all  sorts  of  other  things  were  laid  to    firm  reply.     'There  arc  two  or  three  trifles  here 

your  charge,  Quaker  Lynn's  stroke  amongst  the  ;  which  I  will  not  leave  unsettled,  and  I  cannot  go 

test.'  ;  over  there   with   pockets  entirely   empty.*  Fifty 

'Carping  sinners  !'  ejaculated  Herbert.  '  pounds  is  not  such  a  great  sum,  sir,  to  pay  to  get 

'And  I  suppose  it  turned  people  against  the  of-  (  rid  of  me.' 
fice,'  continued    Mr.   Dare.     'My  belief  is,  they        Old  Anthony  Dare  knit  bis  brow  with  perplex- 
won't  come  back  again  as  long  as  you  are  in  it  '    ;  ity.     He  supposed  he   must  furnish  the  money, 

'That's  precisely  what  I  meant  )ou  had  hinted  though  he  did  not  in  the  least  see  how  it  was  to 
to  me,'  said   Herbert.     'Therefore,  I    thought  I    be  done. 

had  better  leave  it.  Pattison  says  he  can  get  me  The  matter  settled,  Herbert  took  his  hat  and 
this  berth,  and  I  should  like  to  try  it.'  ;  walked  cut.     The  first  object  his  eyes  alighted 

•Fou'// not  like  to  turn  merchant  s  clerk,'  re- .  on  outside  was  Sergeant  Delves.  That  worthy, 
peatcd  Mr.  Dure,  wiih  empha-is.  pacing  ihroueh  the  town,  had  brought  himself  to 

'1  shall  like  it  better  than  being  nailed  for  debt  an  anchor  right  opposite  the  office  of  Mr.  Dare, 
here,'  somewhat  coarsely  answered  Flerbert.  'It  and  was  regarding  it,  lost  in  a  brown  study.  The 
is  not  so  agreeable  at  home  now,  especially  in  scrge.ant  was  in  a  state  of  discomfiiure,  touching 
this  office,  that  I  should  cry  to  stay  in  it.  You  :  the  affair  of  the  late  Anthony  Dare.  He  had 
have  changed,  sir,  amongst  the  rest,  many  a  day  lost  no  time  in  looking  after'  Miss  Caroline  Ma- 
through,  you  don't  give  me  a  civil  word.'  ;8«.»n,  as    he   had    promised    himself;  and  the  »e- 

Again  Mr  Dare  felt  that  he  had  changed  to  •  quence  had  bren — defeat.  Without  any  open  stir 
Herbert.  When  he  found  that  he — Herbert —  on  the  part  of  the  police — without  allowing  Car- 
might  have  cleared  himself  at  first  from  the.  ter-    oline  herself  to  know  that  she  was  doubted the 

rible  accu'ation  of  fratricide,  had  he  so  chosen,  sergeant  contrived  to  put  himse.f  in  full  posses- 
instead  of  allowing  the  obloquy  to  rest  upon  him-  sion  of  her  movements  on  that  night.  The  result 
self  and  his  family  for  so  long  a  period  of  time,  proved  that  she  mu-t  be  exempt  from  the  sus- 
he  had  become  bitterly  angry.  Mrs  Dare  and  the  picion;  or,  as  the  sergeant  expressed  it,  'was  out 
whole  family  joined  in  the  feeling,  and  Herbert  of  the  hole;'  and  that  gentleman  remained  at 
sufl'erefl.  fault  again. 

•As  to  civility,  Herbert,  I  must  overget  the  Herbert  crossed  over  to  him.  'What  are  you 
soreness  left  by  your  conduct  first.     You  acted    looking  at,  Delves.'' 

very  ill  in  allowing  the  case  to  go  onto  trial.  If  >[  wasn't  looking  at  nothing  in  particular,' was 
you  had  no  objection  to  sit  down  quietly  under  the  answer.  'Coming  in  sight  of  your  office,  it 
the  crime  yourself,  jou  had  no  right  to  throw  the  natuially  brought  my  thoughts  back  on  that  un- 
disgrace  and  the  expense  upon  your  family.'  satisfactory  business.     I  ne\er  was  so  baffled  be- 

'If  it  were  to  come  over  again,  I  would  not,'    fore.' 
acknowledged   Herbert.     'I  thought  then  I  was  :      'It  is  very  strange  who  it  could  have  been,' ob- 
acting  for  the  best.'  ;  served  Herbert.     'I  often  think  of  it. ' 

•Pshaw!'  was  the  peevish  ejaculation  of  Mr.  '     'Never  so  baffled  before,'  continued  the  ser 
Djpg  ;  gcant,  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption  to  bis 

•Altogether,'  resumed  Herbert,  •!  think  I  had  °'^"  ''"'^'-  '^  <=°"'*^  *'™ost  f'^^®  '•een  upon  my 
better  go  away.  After  a  time,  something  or  other    "^^'^  =*^  ^^®  *'™«  ''"**  ^^«  murderer  was  in  the 

may  turn  up  to  make  things  smoother  here,  and    ^°^^^'  ^^'^^'^  '*'^'  '^J  "nd  yet ' 

then  I  can  come  home  again;  unless!  find  abetter       '"Tou  could  have  been  upon  your  oath  it  was  I,' 


opening  abroad.  I  may;  and  I  believe  I  shall  like 
living  there.' 

'Very  well,'  said  Mr  Dare,  after  some  minutes' 
silence.     'It  may  be  for  the  best.     At  all  events. 


interrupted  Herbert. 

'It's  true.  I  could.  But  you  had  yourself 
chiefly  to  thank  for  it,  Mr.  Herbert  Dare, 
through  making  a  mystery  of  your  movements 


it  will  give  time  for  things  hero  to  blow  over.    If   ^^^^  "'^^^-     ^^^^^  J""   ^'=™  cleared,  my  mind 
you  don't  find  it  what  you  like,  you  can  but  come    ^"'•"«'^  '<>  ^^»^  g'""':  ""'^  ^^»^*  ^  '"""'"l.  ^»»  "^  i°  ' 


back.' 

'I  shall  be  sure  not  to  come  back,  unless  I  can 
square  up  some  of  my  liabiliiies  here,' returned 
Herbert.    'You  must  help  me  to  get  there,  sir.' 

•What  do  you  want?*  asked  Mr.  Dare- 


•What  girl.''  interrupted  Herbert. 

•The  one  in  Honey  Fair;  your  brother  An- 
thony's old  »wretheart.  It  wasn't  her,  though;  I 
have  got  (he  proofs.  Charlotte  Eshi  had  got  her 
I  to  ber  bouse  on  that  erenios,  aod  kept  liar  till 


^g  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUK.EB, 

twelve  o'clock,  when  she  went  hdme  to  bed  in;  with  him— he  alone  held  the  key  to  its  cause— 
her  garret.     Charlotte's  a-going  to  try  to  make  5  was  William  Halliburton. 

something  of  her  again.  And  now  I  am  baffled,^  William's  influence  over  him  was  very  great; 
and  1  don't  deny  it.'  'he  yielded  to  no  one,  not  even  to  his  father,  aa 

'To  suspect  any  girl  is  ridiculous,'  observed  •  he  would  yield  to  William.  Henry  gave  the  reins 
Herbert  Djre.  'No  girl,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  would  '  to  his  tongue,  and  said  all  sorts  of  irritating 
possess  the  courage  or  ihe  strength  to  accomplish  Uhings  to  William,  as  he  did  to  everybody  else, 
such  a  deed  as  that.'  ]  It  only  masked   the   deep   affection,  the   lasting 

•You  don't  know 'em  as  us  police  do,' nodded  J  friendship,  which  had  taken  possession  of  his 
the  sergeant.    'I  was  asking  your  father  only  a  '■  heart  for  William. 

day  or  two  ago,  whether  he  could  make  cock- J  'Let  me  be;  let  me  be,' he  said  to  William  on© 
sure  of  his  servants,  that  they  had  not  been  in  J  day.  in  answer  to  a  remonstrance  that  he  should 
it '  ;  rouse  himself.  'I  told  you  that  my  life  bad  passed 

'Of  our  servants .''  interrupted  Herbert,  in  sUr-  \  out  with  her  J 
prise.    'What  an  idea  !*  'But  your  life  has  not  passed  out  with  her,' ar- 

•Well,  I  have  gone  round  to  my  old  opinion — ■  gued  William;  'your  life  is  in  you,  just  as  much 
that  il  was  somebody  in  the  house,'  returned  the  ^as  it  ever  was.  And  it  is  your  duty  to  make  some 
sergeant.  'But  il  seems  the  servants  are  all  on  )  use  of  your  life:  not  to  let  it  run  to  waste— as 
the  square.     1  can't  make  it  out.'  J  you  are  doing.' 

•Why  on  earth  should  you  !^uppose  it  to  be  any  \     'It  does  not  affect  you,'  was  the  tart  reply, 
body  in  the  house?'  questioned  Herbert,  in  con-?     'It does  very  much  affect  me.     I  am  grieved  to 
feiderable  wonderment.  ^see  yeu  hug  your  pain,  instead  of  shaking  it  off; 

•Because   I  do,'  was  the  answer.    'Us  police;  vexed  to  think   that  a  man   should  so  bury  his 
see  and  note  down  what  others  pass  over.  There  j  days.     It  is  an  unfortunate  thing  that  nobody  is 
were  odds  and  ends  of  things  at  the  lime  that 'cognizant  of  this  matter  but  myself.' 
made  us  infer  it;  and  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  ^     'Is  it  though  !*  retorted  Henry.   'You  are  a  fine 
jjjj„(j  »  ^  Job's  coiAforter,  you  are  !' 

•It  is  an  impossibility  that  it  could  have  been  a ;;     'Y'es,  it  is.     Were  it  known  to  those  about  you, 

resident  of  the  house,'  dissented  Herbert.  'Every  ^  you  would  not  for  shame  lie  here,  and  indulge  r#- 

one  in  it  is  above  suspicion.'  '  i'grets  after  an  imprudent  and  silly  girl.' 

,  -  ..  ^-  Lf  i,„_„  Uoon  >'  Qclrp.1^     Henry  flashed  an  angry  glance  at  him  from  his 

'Who  do  you  fancy  it  might  have  been.''    asJreo       .^  ,    ^,  .rr  i  j  r  n       .     r 

'     .        ,,       , „,  „„  if  Ko  toUJipH  to  ^ soft  dark  eye.     'Take  care,  my  good  fellow!    I 

the  sergeant,  abruptly,  almost  as  it  he  wished  to^  .      ,  ...         i,  .  r  j     ,f  .     j     n  i 

■      ri     u     .      .    f  „,,  ;r,^o„f.nii=  onawpr        '  Can  Stand  .'■ome  things;  but  I  don't  Stand  al. ' 
surprise  Herbert  out  of  an  incautious  answer.        ,     ,.     .  j     »      n      •  i       i.     . 

^  .     ,         ,  .       .     ^  II  u-  .,.=  /     'An  imprudent,  silly  girl,  who  does  not  care  a 

But  Herbert  had   nothing  to  tell  him;  no  sus-         ,    .     ^       ,  ...     „  ,    ,   „,.,,. 

x)ui,ociucit  ■ ''^  b  ..f'rush  for  you,'  emphatically  repeated   William; 

nicion  was  on  his  mind  to  be  surprised  out ot.  'II  '  i         ,   .,,  •  j     j     «.    .• 

picion  wds  uii  Mia  .  ...  .•     ,     ■; 'whose  wild  and  ill-judged  affection   is  given  to 

I  could  fancy  it  was,  or  might  be,  any  particular,  .u  •   r.     .•      ,-, 

1  coiiiu  irtut.j  II.  "     ,  o  ,  .,,    /another.     Was  there  ever  infatuation  like  unto 

individual,  I  should  come  to  you  and  say  so,  with- ;.    ^^^^^  ^^ 

out  askine.' he  replied.     'I  am  as  much  at  fault ',  J         '  ,  .  r    .u  u 

oui  asuiiig,  iitpicp.  ,      ,.  L.^     'Have  a  care,  I  tell  you!'  burst  forth  Henry, 

as  vou  can  be.     Anthony  may  have  made  slight ;  .    .    •  u*  j  *u        .u-        .  j» 

as  you  odu  uc.     «  I       .•;,..  ,^        ,  ?.   ; 'By  what  right  do  you  say  these  things  to  mc?' 

enemies  in  the  town,  what  wiih  his  debts  and  his;      •'  ..        r  j         j   r  ■  .     j  .u  * 

enemies  iii  m^  '      .  '  ^„«>^;„c^      I  say  them  for  your  good— and  I  intend  that 

temner,  and  one  th  ng  or  other;  but  no  enemies  u     ,j   <•    i  *t  ivk  ,    i    •/■ 

iciupcijciiiuw  t,  .,.,,.      ,.       , /you  should  feel  them.    When  a  surgeon's  knife 

of  that  terrible  nature — capable  of  killing  him.  ir     ,  ...  ...  °    ,     . 

01  xnaiieiriuic  iiauu  ^  o  probes  a  wound,  the  patient  groans  and  winces; 

wish  I  could  see  cause  for  a  reasonable  suspic-   f^  .  •.  ■    j        .  u-     f 

wisn  1  couiu  .CO  ^.xuo  "^        but  It  13  done  to  cure  bim.' 

ion,'  he  added  with  emotion.  'I  would  give  my  \  . ^^^  ^^^  ^  ^^^  ^^  eloquence !'  sarcastically  re- 
right  arm'-stretching  it  out-'to  solve  the  mys-,  .^.^^^  ^^^^^^  .p.^^  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^,^  ^^^^.^^  ^^  ^^^ 
tery.     As  well  for  my  sake  as  for  my  dead  bro-^'  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^  the  anticipated  shine  out  of  Frank  !' 

ther's  '  '  > 

.     .,    .  T  ■  \.t.  A      J'     "Answer  me  one  plain  question,  Henry.  Do  you 

'Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  I  am  right  down,  .      u        .     a  t         s    .     u      i 

vyeii,aiii  j      >  °  still  cast  a  hopc  to  Anna  Lynn .'—to  her  bccom- 

upon  my  beam  ends,'  concluded  the  sergeant.        ;  .^^  ^^^^  ^.^^  ., 

Meanwhile  Henry   Ashley  was  getting  little;  i,  •  i      «•  it  u*        u- 

iYieanwmio  ^^      J      .  .        .  .     r    «  '     With  a  shriek  of  anger,  Hepry  caught  up  bit 

better      He  had  fa   en  into  a  state  of  utter  pros- ;  *  •.  a  •      .J     ,  v  .u       •      .ot-i 

oeuer.     no  ua  .,.■,..,,  i,-     ^  slipper,  and  sent  it  flying  through  the  air  at  Wil- 

tration.     Mental   anguish    had    told    upon    ^im  { ^.^^^  J^^^^^ 

K,^rli1v  nhd  his  Dhvsical  v/eakness  was  no  doubt : 

bodily,  ana  nis  p.  jsi  a  v,im,plf       'What's  that  for."  equably  demanded  William, 

creat;  but  he  made  no  effort  to  rouse  himseJl.        ,......,.. 

^  .  .■    J-     ^.  u-        „-  i,oiroi««o,i   nr.    dodging  his  head  out  of  the  way. 

He  would  lie  for  hours,  his  eyes  half-closed,  no-;        &    »  •' 

ticingnoone.    The  medical  men  said  they  had  j     'How  dare  you  hint  at  such  a  thing?    I  told 

seen  nothing  like  it,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashley  :  you  there  were  some  things  that  I'd  not  stand.  Is 

grew  alarmed.    The  only  one  to  remonstrate  jit  fit  that  one  who  h«B  figured  in  eueb  an  mc** 


MJlft.  HALLIBimTON'S  TROTTBLES 


79 


ptide  should  be  mad«  the  wife  of  an  Ashley?    If,  CHAPTER  XXIII. 

we  were  left  by  our  two  selves  upon   the  earth, 

II      1  J        1  J  i       r    •.     i»-l  »„f  ^„»>„  «  LOSS    FOR   POMERANIAN   KNOLL. 

all  else  gone  dead  and  out  of  it,  la  not  marry  v 

her. '  j     Pomeranian  Knoll  had  scarcely  recovered  its 

'Precisely  so.  I  have  judged  you  rightly.  ;  equanimity  after  the  shock  of  the  departure  of 
Then,  under  this  state  of  things,  what  in  the  ;  Herbert  Dare  for  foreign  parts,  when  it  fwund  it- 
name  of  fortune  is  the  use  of  your  lying  here  and  |  self  about  to  be  shorn  of  another  inmate.  Her- 
thinking  of  her?'  I  bert,   what  with    one    thing    and    another,  had 

•I  don't    think    of  her,'  fractiously    returned  !  brought  a  good  deal  of  vexation  upon  the  paler- 


Henry.     'You  are  always  fancying  things.' 
•You  do  think  of  it.     1  can  see  that  you  do.     I 

should  be  above  it,' quaintly  continued  William. 

.  'Go  and  pick  up  my  slipper.' 
•Will  you  come  down  to  tea  this  evening?' 
•No,  1  won't.     You  come  here  and  preach  up 


nal  homo;  Helstonleigh  also  had  not  been  hold- 
ing him  in  any  extensive  favour  since  the  trial; 
and  that  home  was  not  sorry  that  he  should  ab- 
sent himself  from  it  for  a  time.  But  it  cetlaiDly 
did  not  bargain  for  his  announcing  his  departure 
one  night,  and  being  off  the  next  morning. 


this  morality,  or  divinity,  or  whatever  you  may  J  A  week  or  two  after  his  departure,  the  Sig- 
please  to  term  it,  to  me;  but,  wait  and  see  how  ;■  nora  Varsini  received  a  letter  with  a  foreign  post- 
you'd  act,  if  you  should  ever  gel  struck  on  the  |  mark  on  it.  The  fact  was  nothing  extraordinary 
keen  shaft  as  I  have  been.'  .  jp  itself;  the  signora  did  occasionally  receive  let- 

'Come,  let  me  help  you  up.'  iters   bearing   foreign   post-marks;    but    this  one 

•Don't  bother.  I  am  not  going  to  get  up. ,  threw  her  into  agitate  of  commotion,  the  like  of 
I  ;  which    had   never   been  witnessed.     Pushing  Ih© 

At  that  moment,  Mr.  Ashley  opened  the  door,  letter  into  the  deepest  pocket  of  her  dress  when 
His  errand  likewise  was  to  induce  Henry  to  leave  ^  it  was  delivered  to  her,  she  finished  giving  the 
his  sofa  and  his  room,  and  join  them  below. ;.  mu^ic  lesson  to  Minny,  which  she  was  occupied 
Henry  could  not  be  brought  to  comply.  j  upon,  and  then  retired  to  her  room  to  peruse  it. 

'No.     I  have  just  told  William.  I  cannot  think  ;  f,^^  this  she  emerged  a  short  while  alter,  w  ith 
why  he  did  not  go  back  and  say  so.  Heonly  stops  /  ^   jong   fr^^e   of  consternation,  uttering   frantic 
here  to  worry  me.     There  !  get  along,  William:  .gj^^^^lgti^^^      jyj^g      Dare    was   quite   alarmed, 
and  come  back  when  you  have  swallowed  enough  ;  vVhatever  was  the  matter  with  mademoiselle  ? 
**^-  .'      'Ah,   what    mis^re!    what    desolation!    what 

Mr.  Ashley  laid  his  hand  on  William's  arm,  as  ■  ^J.■^^^^g  nouvelles !  The  letter  was  from  her  aunt 
they  walked  together  along  the  corridor,  and  ■  j,,  pg^jg,  who  was  thrown  upon  her  deathbed; 
brought  him  to  a  halt.  'What  is  this  illness  of/  ^^^  she,  mademoiselle,  must  hasten  thither  wiih- 
Henry's  ?    There  is  some  secret  connected  with  <  ^^  jgiay.     ]f  ghe  could  not  start  by  a  train  that 

lay,  she  must  go  by  the  first  one  on  the  next.  She 
was  dd'-olce  to  leave  madame  at  a  coup;  her 
iieart  would  break  in  bidding  adieu  to  the  young 
ladies;  but  necessity  was  stern.  She  must  make 
her  baggage  forthwith,  and  would  be  obliged  to 


it,  I  am  sure,  and  you  are  cognizant  of  it.  J 
must  know  what  it  is.' 

Mr.  Ashley's  tone  was  a  decided  one;  his  man- 
ner firm.     William  made  na  reply. 

•Tell  me  what  it  is,  William.' 

•I  cannot,'  said  William.     'Certainly  not  with-  ;  madam7for  her  salary 

out  Henry's   permission;  and   I  do   not  think  he  ^      ..       r^  .   ,  ^,  ■ 

.,.,,.  <      Mrs.  Dare  was  taken — as  the  saying  runs — in  a 

will  give  it.     If  it  were  my  secret,  sir,  instead  of  ^  ^  cu    u   j      .  j  .  .       .u        i 

••  ;  heap.     She  had  not  cared  to  purt  with  mademoi- 

Helle  80  soon,  although  the  retaining  her  entailed 

„,.,,,,,  .  ^  'an  additional   expense,  which   they  could  ill  af- 

The  mind.     I  think  the  worst  is  over.    Do  not 


hit,  I  would  tell  it  at  your  bidding.' 
•Is  it  on  the  mind  or  the  body  ?* 


tpeak  to  him  about  it,  I  pray  you,  sir.' 

'William,  is  it  anything  that  can  be  remedied  ? 
By  money? — by  any  means  at  command?' 

'It  can  never  be  remedied,'  replied  William, 
earnestly.  'Were  the  whole  world  brought  to 
bear  its  help  upon  it,  it  could  do  nothing.  Time 
and  his  own  good  sense  must  effect  the  cure 


ford  in  their  gradually  increasing  embarrass- 
ments and  htraitening  means;  but  thn  cliitf  point 
that  puzzled  lier  was  the  pajing  up  of  the  salary. 
Between  thirty  and  forty  pounds  were  due. 
There  appeared,  however,  to  be  no  help  for  it, 
and  'she  applied  to  .Mr.  Dare. 
•You  may  as  well  ask  me  for  my  head   as  for 


Then  1  may  as  well  not  avk  about  it  if  I  cannot  ^^'^   •"°™   »° '^''y.'    '^"   that  gentleman  •  n-ply. 

aid.     You  are  fully  in  his  confidence?'  ^^'*"'""8  »>«   '^^  '^"''"'''1  """^  '°  ^'"^  l^"*";-  ^" 

•Yes.  And  all  that  another  c.n  do.  I  am  doing  ^"'^-     "Tell  her  tou  will  send  it  afUr  h..r.  if  .he 

We  have  a  battle  daily.     1  want  lo  gel  him  out  of  'i»"»^  6°' 

thiaapathv.'  Mrs.  I;.irc  "-hook  her  head.     It  would  not  be 

•Oh,  that  jou could!' •pirated  Mr.  A»bley.  of  Iha  Uast  um,  the  was  sure.     MidamoisalU 


80  MRS.  BALLIBURTOIf 'S  TRCmBLfiS. 

yr&i  not  one  to  be  put  off  in  that  way,  or  to  depart^  possession  of  his  arm,  and  pounced  into  Robert 
without  her  money.  ^  Kast's,  before  Henry  well  knew   where   he  was. 

How  Mr.  Dare  managed  it  he  perhaps  hardly  \  He  sat  down,  apathetic  and  indifferent,  after  nod- 
knew  himself;  but  he  brought  home  the  money  al  j'ding  carelessly  to  the  respectful  salutation  of  the 
night,  and  the  governess  was  paid  in  full.  On  ^  men.  •!  must  give  just  ten  minutes  to  them,  as  I 
the  following  morning  tiiere  was  a  ceremonious  jam  here,'  observed  William.  'You  can  goto 
learetaking,  loud  and  suggestive  on  the   part  of  f  sleep  the  while.' 

mademoiselle.  She  saluted  them  all  on  both  ^  The  ten  minutes  lengthened  into. twenty,  and 
checks,  including  Mr.  Dare,  and  promised  to ;.  Henry's  attention  was  so  far  aroused  that  he: 
write  every  week,  at  least.  A  fly  came  to  Iht  ^  ;arae  to  the  table  in  his  impulsive  way,  and  began 
door  for  her  and  her  luggage,  and  George  Dare  ;  lalking  on  his  own  account.  When  William  was 
mounted  the  box  to  escort  her  to  the  station.  ;  ready  to  go,  he  was  not;  and  he  actually  told  the 
Mademoiselle  politely  invited  him  inside;  but  he  ;  nen  that  he  would  come  round  again.  It  was  a 
had  just  lighted  a  cigar,  and  preferred  to  stop  ;  .;,reat  point  gained, 
where  he  was.  J     fcsmall  beginnings,  it  has  been  remarked,  make 

•1  say,  mademoiselle,' cried  he,  after  she  was  S  ijreat  endings.  The  humble,  confined  way  in 
seated  in  the  railway  carriage,  'if  you  should  ;  .vhich  the  class  had  begun  at  Robert  East's;  the 
happen  to  come  across  Herbert,  I  wish  you'd  teli  •  >'ague  ideas  of  William  upon  the  subject;  the 
him '  f  Joubting  ones  of  East  and  Crouch,  were   looked 

Mademoiselle  interrupted  with  a  burst  of  in  ,  ,ack  upon  with  a  smile.  For  the  little  venture 
dignaiion.  She  come  across  Monsieur  Herbert  {  ,ad  swollen  itself  into  a  great  undertaking — an 
What  should  bring  her  coming  across /liw?  Mon- j  undertaking  that  was  destined  to  effect  a  revolu- 
sieur  George  must  be  fou  to  think  it.  Monsieus  ;;  ^on  throughout  the  whole  of  Honey  Fair,  and 
Heibert  was  not  in  Paris,  was  he.'  She  had  un  >  night  probably  even  extend  to  Helstonleigh  itself, 
derstood  he  was  in  Holland.  ;!  ,  jje  drawback  now  was  want  of  room;  numbers 

•Oh,  well,  it's   ail   on   the  other  side   of   th-  i  ^,ere  being  kept  away  by  it.     Henry  Ashley  did 
Channel,' answered  George,  whose  geographica   ;;   ^  again;  and,  finding  that  books  of  the  right 
notions  of  the  Continent  wore  not  very   definiit   ^  ^juj  ran.  short,  he,  the  day  afler  h'n  second  visit, 
•Perhaps  you  won't  see  him,  though,  mademoi  <  yryte  off  an  order  for  a  whole  cargo, 
selle;  so  never  mind.'  ;;      j^^    Ashley  was  in  a  stale  of  inward   delight. 

Mademoiselle   replied  by  telling  him  to  tak.  <  vnything  to  rouse   him.'    'You  think  it  will  buc- 

care  of  him.elf;  for  the   whistle  was  sounding       ^^^^i^at   movement,  do  you,  Henry."  he  care- 

George   drew    back,   and  watched  the  train  oi    ^    ^^.    „tj^gj.ygjj^  | 

mademoiselle  nodding  her  farewell  to  him   trou  <       ,  ,       ,  ,  ,         ,,  „,.,,. 

°  i     'It'ssafetosucceed,  was  the  answer.  William, 

.    .  .,    .^  ri  1  i     1  •  u  '  /ilh  his  palaverinir,  has  gained   the   ear  of  th6 

And  that  was  the  last  that  Helstonleigh  saw  (w  "'"""  f*  t"  f       ,  «   ,,•  : 

,.       ^      ,    ,,  ..  .1     o  V  o  lows.     1  don't  believe  there's  William    Halli-; 

Mrs.  Dare's  Italian  governess,   the  bignoia  Var  m  ,.    k^  ^  ^a^a 

.  .  ,       .   ,^      .^        .  ,      <  urton's  equal  in  the  whole  world!'    he  added, 

sini.     He  stonlei^h  might  not  have  been  any   ti  i  I  ^.  ^  ,.  c   ■      i.-    .■ 

»mi.    ovisioi.  o.g        ^     ,       ^  ,^        •'„      ^  ;iih  enthusiasm.     'Fancy  his  sacrificing  his  time] 

worse  had  it  never  seen   the   brst  of  her.     iVir>   <  ,        ,  ,,  l        t:. .    i,         in     r* 

^""^  .  ,  o  such  a  thing,  and  for  no  benehl  to  himself !    It 

Dare,  after  her  departure,  suddenly  remeiubert.  <  °  f  r    ■,  ,  i/ih.„».h. 

'  .     .,    ,     ,  .   ,  .  .        u    1    J        \  V 111  bear  a  rich  crop  of  fruit  too.     Jf  1  have  the 

that  mademoise  le  had  once  told  her  she  had  nc  >.,,,.  ,  ,  /.  r  ,„,;^ 

*"'*'■  ,.      ..,  ,j  .L     ^  :ft—l'il  give  you  along  word  for  once — of  ratio- ' 

ft sinele  relative  in  the  world.     Who  could  lhl^  >  '  7,  •       <•  r    »rii        •     ,.,:ii  ko  ,^^,.^1 

a  single  ician  /  I'lalion,  this  reform  of   vVilliam  8   will  be  more  I 

aunt  be.  to  whom  she  was  hastening.'  I  ■       .  r         «»  I 

aunt  uc,  lo  "i  "  ,    .     J    xteusive  than  we  now  foresee.' 

And    Henry  Ashley.'    As  the   weeks   and  th    5  .        ^.  ,    „  x-  • 

..  I  .  u-  ',     One  evenine.  the  way  m  which   Honey  r  air 

months  went  on,    Henry  began  to  rouse   himse    <.     "'"''  '-'"^"n'gi  t"c   "«j  ^•'     .. 

.      •       .•  .1         ixr  II        u  11    (    jiiher  liked  to  upend  Us  Sundays  was  under  dis- 

from  his  prostration;  his  apathy.     William  Hall.   )    *  i"^'  "»^"      "h  •'..,, 

J  .    r  ♦  .    II  .1.  .  •.         >    ussjon;  namely,  the  men  m  smoking;  the  women 

burton  made  no  secret  of  It  to  Henry,  that  It  wa   j    ua  lu.i,  ■  «  ,    j,  c   ...  , 

J   .  (I     •        <•  •  jialtern  y   and   dirty;  the  children   nghting  and 

•uspecled  he  was   sullering   from   some    inwaro  ,"*"•'""  J     .    *       ' /.'  °        f 

„      ,     L  L  1-  J  .1    t   u     u  jfuuarrcinir  in  the  oirt  outside.     William  Halli- 

rrief  which  he  was  concealing,  and  that  he  had    4"'»"^''"b  •>■■■< '^  «  i  .    .    ,/• 

,  .        ,  .1         •   »    u      ^4        A  ui       (  viuiton  was  askinec  them  in  a  hall-earnest,  riall- 

bsen  questioned   on   the  point   by   Mr.    Ashley   <  ^'""■""  "*' *»-'>^"  6  ' 

,      -J  »r-ir         If    u   II    I  J  iokinir    manner,    what    particular    benent   they 

•You  know,' said  William,  •!  shall   have  no  re- J '"*'"&    i»ji..i<=i,  y  ..    .,0     .j 

,/.,,,         I  1  e     J  found  in  It,  that  it  should  not  be  remedied?  Could 

iiousce   but   to  lell,  uoiess  you   show  yourself  a    '"'"'"'""''""'" '  .    1  •     -,     ,/•  , 

.  .    /r  .v.-  I       >  ihev  impi^rt  its  n  easures  to  liimr     11  so— — 

•ensible  man,  and  come  out  of  this  nonsense.'       t    '  J       *  1^ 

It  alarmed  Henry:  rather  ihan  have  his  seen-        His    voice    suddenly    faker«;d     and    stopped.; 

feeling*  betrayed  for  the  family  bent  fit,  he  coulu  Standing   just   inside   the   door   of  the  room,  a| 

have  died.     In  a  grumbling  and  discontented  so.  1     iuset  spectator  and   listener  of  the  proceedings, 

of  mood,  l^e  got  about  again,  and  resumed  his  idl.  j  vas  '1  hon.ss  A.hley.  1  he  men  followed  the  bent 

occupations  (such  as  they  were)  as   usual.     Om     jf  William's  gaze,  saw  who  was  amongst  tbem,| 

•vening  William  •nliced  him  out  for  a  walk,  held  \  aud  r»s»  ia  respectful  silenM. 


MM.  HALLlMRTON'a  14lOir»LlM^ 


8.1 


Mr.  Ashley  eeme  forward,  signing  to  William  {  'William,  it  is  a  relief  th*t  1  must  hftV».  Sineft 
to  continue.  But  William's  eloquence  had  j  my  suspicions,  that  ti.ere  was  a  hecrel,  were  coiv 
died  out,  leaving  only  a  heightened  colour  in  iisj  finned,  I  cannot  tell  you  what  improbable  fan- 
place.  In  the  presence  of  Mr.  Ashley,  whom  he  I  cies  and  feari  have  noi  run  not  in  my  bram.  For 
loved  and  respected,  he  had  grown  timid  as  a  i  prostration  so  excessive  to  have  overtaken  him, 
child.  ione  would  almost  thiik  he  had   been  guilty  of 

'Do  you  know,'  said  Mr.  Ashley,  addressing  S  murder,  or  some  other  unaccountable  crime, 
the  men,  'it  gives  me  greater  pleasure  to  see  you  ;  You  must  relkv*  my  m  nd.  which,  in  spite  of  my 
here,  than  it  would  do  were  I  to  hear  that  you  ^  uncontrollable  fancies,  1  do  not  doubt  the  truth 
had  come  into  a  fortune."  j  will  do      k  will  make  no  difference  to  any  one; 

They  smiled  and  shook  their  heads.  'Fortunes  I  it  will  only  be  an  additional  bond  between  myself 
didn't  come  to  the  like  o'  them.'  |and  you;  and  you,  ray  almost  son.' 

'Never  mind,'  replied  Mr.  Ashley;  'fortunes  ,<  William's  duty  rose  before  him,  clear  and  dis- 
are  not  the  best  gifts  in  life.'  ^tinct.     But  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  whisper. 

He  stayed  talking  with  them  some  little  time,  ^     'He  loved  Anna  Lynn.' 
quiet  words  of  encouragement,  and   then  with- ',     Mr.  Ashley  walked  «n  without  comment.  Wil- 
drew,   wishing  them   good    luck.     William   de- /  Mam  resumed. 

parted  with  him;  and  as  they  passed  through  Ho-;;  'Had  that  unhappy  affair  not  taken  place, 
ney  Fair,  the  women  ran  to  their  doors  to  gwze  ;  Henry's  intention  was  to  make  her  his  wife,  pro- 
after  them.  Mr.  Ashley,  slightly  bent  with  hi^  /jded  you  could  have  been  broujtht  to  consent 
advancing  years,  leaned  upon  William's  arm,  but  ills  whole  days  used  to  be  spent,  I  believe,  iri 
his  face  was  fresh  as  ever,  and  his  dark  hair  /  Janning  how  he  could  best  invent  a  chance  ol 
showed  no  signs  of  age.     William,  erect,  noble:     ihtaining  it.' 

his  height  greater  than   Mr.  Ashley's,  his  fure- '      'And  now :' very  sharply  asked  Mr  Ashley, 
head  broader,  his  deep  grey  eyes  strangely  earn-  ■;     'Now  the  thing  is  at  an  end  for  ever.     Henry's 
est  and  sincere;  and  a  flitting  smile  playing  on  hi*  f  ^ood  sense  has  come  to  his  aid;  I  suppose  I  mav 
lips.     He  was  listening  to  Mr   Alhley's  satisfac^  sny  his   pride -his  self-esteem.     Innocent  of  ac- 
tion at  what  he  had  witnessed.  \  lual  ill  as  Anna  was  in  the  affair,  there  was  suf- 

•Hnw  long  d'lyou  intend  to  sacrifice  your  eve-  \  licient  reflection  cast  upon  her  to  prove  to  Henry 
nings  to  them  ?'  i  that  his  hopeful  visions  could  never  he  carried 

•It  is  no  sacrifice,  Mr.   Ashley.     I  am  glad  to  j  .ut.     That  was  Henry's  secret,  sir  and  1  almost 
do  it.     I  consider  it  one  of  the  best  uses  to  which  /  feared  the  blow  would  have  killed  him.     But  he 
my  evenings   could  be   put.     I   intend  to  enlisi  i  is  overgetiing  it' 
Uonry  for  good  in  the  cause,  if  I  can.'  >      Mr.  Ashley  drew  a  deep  breath.     'William.  I 

•You  will  be  an  ingenious  persuader  if  you  do,' J  thank  you.  You  have  relieved  me  from  a  night- 
returned  Mr.  Ashley.  'I  would  give  half  I  am  j  mare;  and  you  may  forget  having  given  me  ihe 
worth,'  he  abruptly  added,  'to  gee  the  boy  take  an  I  confidence  if  you  like,  for  it  will  never  be  abused, 
interest  in  life.'  i  What  are  you  going  to  do  about  space  .''  he  con- 

•It  will  be  sure  to  come,  sir.  One  of  these  days  ]  linued,  in  a  different  tone. 
I  shall  surprise  him  into  reading  a  good  play  to  |      'About  space,  sir?' 

the  men.     Something  to  laugli  at.     It  will  be  a  '      tfor  those  proi6,^6s  of  yours,  at  East's.     Thry 
beginning  '  J  ^^^^  ^^  ^^  ,o  5^  tolerably  confined  for  ii ,  there. ' 

•He  is  very  much  better,'  observed  Mr.  Ashley.  ;  .y^,  gnd  that  is  not  the  worst.'  said  Wilnam. 
•The  listless  apathy  is  going.'  ;  .yj^.^  j,^  asking  to  join  every  day,  and  ir.ey  can 

'Oh,  yes.     He  is  all  but  cured.'  j  ^^^^  t,g  ,3h^n  in.. 

•What  was  it,  William.-'  |      -/can't  think  how  you  manage  to  get  so  many 

William  was  taken  by  surprise.     He  did  nf  i    — a'd  to  keep  them.' 
ans>»er,  and  Mr    Ashley  repealed  the  question.  'I  -uppose  Ihe  »h>-f  secret   is,  that  their  int»T- 

'It  is  his  secret, sir;  not  mine.'  ;  -st  enter*  ml')  it.     We  c  nttiy^   to  keej.  iiimi  i.p. 

'You  must  confide  it  to  me,' said  Mr  Ashley.*  'lo<t  of  It.em  would  not  go  b.ck  to  the  Horned 
in  his  tone  of  quiet  firmness*.     'You  know  me.     ^a*"  ^"^  ^*'*  ^•^'■''^•'  ^ 

William.     When   I  promise  that  neither  it  nor        'Well,  where  ,h. II  you  Mow  them? 
the  fact  of  its  having  been  disclosed  to  me,  shai         'H  is  more  than  I  can  say,  sir.     We  must  man- 
escape   me,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  to  anj     age  il  »om<how.' 

living  person,  you    know  that  you    may  depend'      -Henry  luld  me  yu  were   ambitious  enoufjh  to 
upon  me.'  ;  a-pire  to  the  Mormon  lailure' 

He  paused.  William  dii!  not  *peak;hcwav!  'I  was  f.>o|;.h  rnough, 'replied  Wijliem.  with  a 
debAiioi;  will)  JiimselT  wbal  he  augfu  to  do.  ,  lau^.     'Setuti  it  wm  T«ry  stucb  in  X^9  Mti4i* 

11 


83  MRS.  HALLIBTRTOW'S  TROtJftLES. 

tion  of  the  famed  picture  taken  of  the  good  Dr  |'A  srhool  where  I  might  become  a  junior  auiat 
Primrose  and  .'  is  lauiily— useless — i  went  ariO  of-S  ant,'  suggest' d  Gar.  '• 'r  any  family  who  would 
fi-red  a  rent  (or  ii — only  a  trifling  sum.  it  i>  tnie;^  iuk«-  me  lo  reatl  with  Iheir  scms?  If  1  only  teamed 
but  if  our  fipfs  but  kept  it  from  duii.p,  one  would  ;  my  fo..d,  it  wi>uUl  be  >-o  much  the  less  weight 
thitik  the  builder  might  have  bt-tti  glad  to  let  it,  ;u|i<iti  m)  mother,'  added  he,  iu  the  candid  spirit 
thrown  as  it  is  upon  his  hands.     1  told  him  so  '     >  peculiar  to  the  family. 

•What  did  he  say  ?'  \     So  thai,  altogcttier,  Gar  was  in  spirits,  and  did 

*He  stood  out  for  thirty  pounds.  But  that's  ;■  not  by  any  means  ^-ut  on  Eup«  rfluous  mourning  for 
more  than  1— than  we  can  aliord'  5  a  gent.eman  who  had  died    in  the  backwoods  of 

•And  who  was  going  to  tin.l  the  money?   You:'  j  Canada,  although  he  was  bis  mother's  brother. 

VVill'am  hesitated-,  but  did  not  see  any  way  out  ■, 
of  the  dilemma.  > 

'Well,  sir,  you  know  it  is  a   sad   pity  for  the  ^  <•» 

good  work  to  be  slopped,  through  so  insignificant) 
a  triQe  a.s  want  of  room.'  > 

•I  think  it  IS,' replied   Mr.  Ashley.     "You  can  ^  CHAPTER  XXIV. 

hire  it  to-morrow,  and   move  your  forms  and  ta-  •', 

hies  and  books  into  it  as  soon  as  you  like.     1  will  >  Mils   ashlet's   offer. 

find  the  rent.'  ', 

The  words  took  William  by  surprise.  <0h,  Mr.  \  '^*«^-'  '^'^'^  M-*-  Ashley,  M  have  received  an 
Ashley,  do  jou  really  mean  i.  ?'  i  ^^'^  «<"  °'arrir.ge  for  you.' 

-D     II    „        -.5     I.      I  ,n      „„   .1 r.,.,„..„,i  ;      A  soiDcwhai  abrupt  announcement  to  make  to 

'Really  mean  It?     It  is  little  enough,  compared  /  •  f^ 

.,,       ,    ,  J   .  .  f  „     1X7  ii,„„,   i  a  young  lady,  and  Mr.  Ashley  spike  in  the  gravest 

with  what  you  are  doing.  A  lew  ye^rs,  William, ,     j        i?       ."  ,  r 

.  .  ,         ij   I  ,      I   ; ,,     !  tone.     Ttiey  were  seated  round  the  breahfast  ta- 

and   your   name    maybe  gieai  m  Idelslonleign.  ;  ■' 

You  are  working  on  for  it.'  $  *»''''  ^^^'^  ^^  ^'^^  «'Otne.'s   side,  who  was  pour- 

William  walked  with  Mr    AsMey  as  far  as  his',  ing  o»l  t^^«  coHVe    Mary  looked  surprised,  rather 

house,  and   then    turned   back    lo   his  own.     He  J  a"'"^'^'''  ^'^^  ^hat  was  the  only  emotion  discerni- 

found  sorrow  there.   Not  having  been  home  since  ?  ^^«  '»  *"=''  countenance. 

dinner  time,  for  he  l,ad  laken  leaatMr   Ashley  s.j     '^^  is  fine  to  be   you,  Miss  Mary!'  struck  in 

he  was  unconscious  of  some  tidings   wbich  had  \  "^'"-y'  ^''^'-''^  ^"jbody  could  speak.     'Pray,  .if, 

been  brougt.t  by  the  afternoon's. post.     Jane  sa.    ^^'"  '=*  '*'«  veniurer?' 

and  grieved  while   she    tohl    him.     Her  brotl.e,        '^^  assures  me  that  his  happiness  is  bound  up 

Robert  was  dc»d.     Ve,y   rarel)  indetd  did  sh.  J  •"  his  offer  beini^  arc»-pted.' resumed  Mr.  Ashley. 

hear  from  the  New  World;  Margaret  appeared  t.  f'  '"'^"''y  ^^  ^^^^  •"^''-'e'^    '«    »S*"''«    me  also  that 

be  too  full  of  cares  and  dom^siic  bustle  to  writ.  \  ^^''y's  ^''S.     Of  course  all  I  can  do  is  to  lay  th« 

often.     She  mi^hl  not  have  vvriiten  now,  but  t.  ^  P'-"P"sal  before  her' 

tell  of  the  deuih  .d  Robert.  i     '^^'^'-"^  '=*  ''  ^^^^  >'»"  "«  ^^^^''"^  ®f'  Thoma.." 

.1   u  I     .-..,  o    e      .,,oi;.v,oo  ;„   o  ,,;  ;«..  ,  r;  interposed  Mrs.  Ashley,  unable  until  then  to  find 

'I  have   lo-l  inyseit  sumeiimes  in   a  vision  ol  '  '^  •' • 

D   K    .    I       ,.  „•„.     >  ^^.A    i.r...    .„;fi.  „'hertongue,  and   speaking  with  some  acrimony, 
seeing   Kobert   home  asiani,    said  Jane,   with  a)  "     '  *^  =*  •' 

.....  I  .  .»  ;'Ido  not  consider  Mary  old  enough  to  be  mar- 
sigh.     'And  now  he  IS  gone !  '        .      r,  ,  .  .     ..  l    J. 

,  ,.     ,    ,„,.„.•  '^r^ed.     How  can  you  think  of  saying  such  thmes 

•He  was  not  niairied,  was  he?   asked  William  ^  u  f       u      j» 

•No.  Ifcrhenevet  got  on  very  well.  Never  ^  .Neither  do  I,  mamma,' said  Mary  with  a  laugh. 
to  be  at  his  ease.'  ^.j  ^j^g  ^y  ^jj^j^g  ^ere  too  well  to  leave  it.' 

Gar  came  in  noisily,  and  inferruptud  them.>  'And  while  you  are  talking  sentiment,  my  cu- 
The  death  of  an  uncle  whom  he  had  never  seen, ;  riosily  is  on  the  rack,'  cried  Henry.  'I  have  in- 
a  'd  who  hrfd  liv«?d  thousands  of  miles  away,  did  )  quired  the  name  of  the  bridegroom,  and  1  should 
not  appear  lo  Gar  to  be  a  matter  calling  for  any  (  like  an  answer.' 
especial  amount  of  grief.  Gar  was  in  high  spirits  j  « Would-be,'  put  in  Mary, 
on  his  own  account;  for  Gar  was  going  to  Cam-  ■  .Mary,  I  am  ashamed  of  you,'  went  on  Henry, 
bridge.  Not  in  all  the  pomp  and  grandeur  of  an  \  .j  blush  for  your  ill-manners.  Nice  credit  she 
unlimited  purse,  however,  but  as  a  humble  sizar.  '(  joes  to  your  bringing  up,  mamma  !     When  young 

Gar,  not  seeing  his  way  particularly  clear,  had  ;  ladies  of  condition  receive  a  celestial  ofifer,  they 
been  wise  enough  to  pluck  up  the  courage  and  5  behave  with  due  propriety,  hang  their  heads  with 
apply  for  counsel  to  the  he-id  master  of  li.e  col-  i  a  blush,  and  subdue  their  speech  to  a  whisper, 
lege  school.  He  had  lo.d  him  that  he  meant  to  ;  And  here's  Mary — look  at  her — talking  out  loud, 
g«  to  college,  and  how  he  meant  to  go,  and  he  and  making  merry  over  it.  Once  more,  sir,  who 
a^ked  Mr.  Keating  if  he  could  help  hiin  to  a  sit- '  is  the  adventurous'  gentleman  ?  Is  it  good  old 
Ufttion,  where  he  might  be  useful  between  terms.  1  General  Wells,  our  gouty  neighbour  opposite, 


afRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


SS 


who  is  lifted  in  and  out  of  his  chariot  for  his  '  'Did  Cyril  say  how  he  meant  to  provide  for 
daily  airing?  I  have  told  Mary  repeatedly  that  Mary,  if  he  obtained  her?'  asked  she,  wiih  an 
she  was  setting  her  cap  for  him.'  amused  look. 

'It  is  not  so  advantageous  a  proposal  in  a  finan-  'lie  did  not  touch  upon  ways  and  means,'  rc- 
cial  point  of  riew,'  observed  Mr.  Ashley,  main-- plied  Mr.  Ashley.  'I  concluae  that  he  intended 
taining  his  impassibility.  'It  proceeds  from  one  \  I  sfiould  have  the  honour  of  keeping  them  both.' 
of  my  dependents  at  the  manufactory.'  '      Henry  Ashley    leaned   back  m  his  chair  and 

Mary  had  the  sugar-basin   in  her  hand  at  the  ^  laughed, 
moment,  and   a  sudden  tremor  seemed  to  seize  ■!      'If  this  is  not  the   richest  joke  I  have  heard  a 
her.     She  set  it  down,  but  so  clumsily,  that  all  ;  long  while,     ('yril  Dare,   the    kinsmHh  of  Her- 
the  top  lumps  fell  off.     Her  face  had  turned  to  a  ,  bert,  the  beautiful.     C!on-found  his  im-pu-dence  !' 
glowing  crimson.     Mr.  Ashley  noticed  it.  \      'Then  you  decline  the  honour  of  the  alliance, 

Mrs   Ashley  only  noticed  the  sugar.  JMary.^'    said   Mr.   Ashley.     'What  am  I  lo  te'l 

'Mary,  how  came  you  lo  do  that  ?    Very  care-  ';  him  ?' 
less,  my  dear.'  '  (      'What  you  please,  papa.     Tell  him,  if  you  likf, 

Mary  set  herself  meekly  to  pick  up  the  lumps,  Uhat  I  would  rather  have  a  chimneysweep.  I 
the  flush  of  crimson  giving  place  to  pallor.  She  i  tcould,  if  it  came  to  a  choice  between  the  two 
lifted  her  handkerchief  to   her   face,  and  held  it  \  How  very  senseless  of  Cyril   to  ttiink  of  such  a 


there,  as  if  she  had  a  cold. 


thing.' 


'The  honour  comes  from  Cyril  Dare,'  said  Mr.  \  'How  very  shrewd,  I  think,  Mary— if  he  could 
Ashley.  ;  o"'y  have  got  jou,'  was  the  reply  of  Mr.  Ash- 

•Cyril  Dare!'  |  ley. 

•Cyril  Dare!'  |      'If!"  SJUcily  put  in  Mary. 

In  different  tones  of  scorn,  but  eachexpressing  |      Henry  benioverihe  taole  to  his  sister. 
it  most  fully,  the  repeti.ion  broke  from  Mrs.  Ash-  j      q  tt^il  jou  what    Mary.     Y..u  go   this  mornins 
ley  and  Henry.     Mary,  on   ibe  contrary,  recov- 1  and  offer  yourself  ly  our  gouty  friend,  the  gene"- 
ered  her  equanimity  and  her  counltnancc.     She    ral.     He  will  jump  at  it,  and  we'll  get  the  banns 
hughed  out,  as  if  she  were  glad.  |  put  up.     We  ca   not,   jou   know,  bu  subjected  to 

•What  did  yousdy  tohim,  papa.?'  f  such  shocks  as  ihe-e  on  ^our  accoun»;  itisunrea- 

•I  gave  him  my  opinion  only.  That  I  thought  sonable  to  expect  us  to  be  I  a>si.re  30U  it  will 
he  iiad  mistaken  my  dauuhler,  if  he  einertamed  be  the  moM  effectual  plan  lo  8«l  Cyrih  Dare,  and 
hopes  ihat  she  would  lisieo  to  his  suit.  The  ihose  i.f  his  tribe,  at  rest.  No,  thank  you, 
question  rests  with  )ou,  Mary.'  ma'am,'  turning  to  Mrs.   Afhley— 'no  more  cof- 

'Ob.    papa,    what   nonsense!    rests  with  me  !    '^ce-     This  has  been  enough  breakfast  for  me.' 
Why  you  know  I  would  nevrr  have  Cyril  Dare.'i      'Who  is  this.''  a>ked  Mr.  Ashley,  as  footsteps 

A  smile  crossed  >lr.  Ashley's  face.     He  proba-  '  wer«5  heard  on  the  gravel  walk, 
biy  had  kfio*n  it.  ■      Mrs.  Ashley  I. lied  her  eyes. 

•Cyni   Dire!'  repeated  Mary,  as  if  unable  to        'it  is  William  Mai  iburton.' 

overcome    her    astonisnment       'He    musl    have        'William  Hallinurlun !' echoed  Henry.     'Ah 

turned  silly.     I  would  not  have  Cyril  Dare  if  he    if  yon  could  have  pul  his  heart  and  intellects  into 
were  worth  his  weight  in  gold  '  Cyril's  sKin,  t.o>v,  it  niight  1  a  ve  done.' 

'And  he  musl  be  worth  a  great  dea'  more  than  He  spoke  with  ihai  freedom  of  speech  which 
bis  weight  in  gold,  .Mary,  before  I  woulJ  c.nseiit  characterized  him,  and  in  vshich.  from  his  infirm- 
loyournaving  him,'  quiet  y  rtjoioed  Mr.  Ash-  ity  ,  he  had  not  been  checked.  No  one  made  any 
lej-'  reniaik  in  answer,  and  Wiiham  eniert-d.  He  had 

•Hive  him  !'  echoed  Henry.  'If  I  feared  there  come  tu  ask  some  business  qjesiion  of  Mr.  Ash- 
wai  a  dangT  of  the  daughter  of  all   the  Ashleys    ley. 

so  degrading  herself,  I  shoul  1  bribe  cook  to  make        'I  will  walk  down  with  you,'  snid  Mr.  Ashley, 
an  arsenic  c*ke.  and  cut  the  young  lady  u  portion    'and  see  to  it,  then.    Take  a  >cal,  Wi.^iam.' 
myself,  and  stand  by  while  she  ate  it.'  <It  is  getting  late,  sir.' 

•Don't  talk  foolishly,  Henry,'  rebuked  Mrs.  'Weil  I  Mjppofte  you  can  afford  to  he  late  for 
AshUy.  :  once,'  replied  Mr.  Ashley.     And  William  smiled 

'Mamma,  I    must   say    I   do  not  think  that  it    ai  he  sat  d'>u-n. 
would  be  half  so  foolish  as  Cyril  Dare  was,   cried        'We  have    had  a  letter  from  Cambridp,  this 


Mary,  with  spirit. 

Mrs.  Ashley,  relieved  from  any  temporary  fesr 
of  losing  Mary,  was  going  on  with  her  breakfast 
it  CMBlort. 


morning.     From  Gsr.' 

•And  how  does  Mr.  Gar  gat  on  >'  atked  Henry. 

•First  rale.     He    takes    a   leaf  out  of  Frank's 
book;  detcmiotd  toieeao  difficulties,     rnmk'w 


34 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


letlers  are  always  clieering.     I  really  believe  he  j     'To  be  his  wife.' 

cures  no  more  (or  I'eing  a  berviii.r.llian  lie  wou'd  ;  'Oh!'  The  strange  sound -was  not  a  burst  of 
lor  wearing  a  hat  ai  Ctirisi  church.  All  his  wish  \  indignation,  or  a  groan  of  pain,  it  was  a  mixture 
is  to  gel  on;  he  looks  lo  the  future.'  \  of  both.     William  thrust  his  head  out  of  the  win- 

•But  he  does  hi>  dulj  4U  the  piesent,'  quietly  rc-|  dow. 
marked  Mr   Ashley.  |      'He  actually  asked  the  master  for  her  yester- 

Wiliiam  smiled.  |  day  !'  went  on   Henry.     'He  said  his   heart,  «r 

•It  IS  ihe  oii'j  way  to  insure  the  future,  si"*-.!  jiver,  or  some  such  part  of  him  was  bound  up  ia 
Frank  and  Gar  have  been  learning  ihal  all  their  |  her:  as  she  was  bound  up  in  him.  Fancy  the 
livts.'  I  honour  of  her  becoming  Mrs.  Cyril!' 

Mr.  Ashley,  telling  William  not  to  get  the  fid- j  William  did  not  turn  his  head;  not aglimpse of 
gets,  for  lie  was  i  ot  ready  yet,  withdrew  lo  the!  his  face  could  be  caught.  'Will  she  have  him?' 
nxL  room  with  his  wile.  They  had  some  weight)!  he  asked,  at  length. 

(J.uiiiestic  mailer  to  settle,  touching  a  dinner  party . ;  The  question  uncommonly  exasperated  Henry. 
Henry  linked  his  arm  within  William's,  and  drew  I 'Yes,  she  will.     There!     Go  and  congratulate 


him  to  the  window,  throwing  it  open  to  the  early 
spring  sunshine.  Mary  remained  at  the  break- 
fast table. 

'What  do  you  think  Cyril  Dare,  the  presuming,- 
has  Imd  the  conscience  to  ask.*"  began  he. 


her:     You  are  a  fool,  William.' 

The  sound  of  his  angry  voice,  not  his  words, 
penetrated  to  Mary's  ears.  She  came  forward. 
'What  is  the  matter,  Henry?' 

'So  he  ia  a  fool,'  was  Henry's  answer.    'He 


•I  know,'  replied  William.     «I  heard  him  say  j  wants  to  know  if  you  are  going  to  marry  Cyril 
he  should  ask  it  yesterday.'  ;  Dare.     I    tell    him    yes.     Nobody  but  an   idiot 

•The  deuce  you  did  !'  uttered  Henry.    'And  you  |  ^«"'';,*^^^^  ^'^'^^  '^•'.     ,        ,  „    , 
,.,      ^,        ,  ,        J         3,  (      William   turned,  his  face  full  of  an   emotion 

did  not  knock  him  down  ?'  ,        ,,  .     ■  .  ,      i- 

,„       1    V.        J         I     \xr  „   u  „„,.  k.,o;„ooo  «f  Uhat  Henry  had   never  seen   there:  a  streak  of 

'Knock   him  down !     Was   it  any  business  ol  ,.,,,. 

.,  i  scarlet  on  his  cheeks,  his  earnest  eyes  strangely 

"" 'You  might  have  done  it  as  my  friend,  1  think,  j  troubled.     And  Mary  .'-her  face  seemed  to  have 
A  slight  correction  of  his  impudence.'  (borrowed  the   scanet,  as  she   stood  there,  her 

;  head  and  eyelashes  bent, 
•I  do  not  see  that  it  is  your  business  either,  ;     ^^^^^  ^^^j^^  ^^^^^^  g^^^  ^^  ^„^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^ 

returned  William.     Mt  is  Mr.  Ashley's.'  ,  ^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^j^^,,  ^^^^^^  3,^^  ^^3„^^  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^. 

«0h,  indeed !     Perhaps  you  would  hke  it  car-  |  ^^^  j^j^^^j^      j^  contrition  for  having  spoken  so 

ricd  outr'  ■  openly  of  his  sister's  affairs?    Not  at  all.    Whist- 

•l  have  no  right  to  say  it  shall  not  be  '  |  ,j      ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^  renowned  comic  song  of  the 

•Thank  you  ."chafed  Henry    'Mary,  h^called  ;  ^^^^  ^^„^j  .^^^^  SteamArm.' 

out  to  his  sister,  'here's  Halliburton  recommend- '      ^^_  ^^^,  .^  ^.^  ^^ 


iig  that  that  business,  we  know  of,  shall  be  car-   jj^ 


head.    •!  am  ready,  Wil- 


ried  out.' 

William  only  laughed.    He  was  accustomed  to  > 
Henry's  exaggerations.  i 

'It  is  what  Cyril  has  been  expecting  for  years,'  i 
said  he.  ; 

Henry  gazed  at  him.  I 

•What  is — what  are  you  talking  of?'  j 

•The  being  taken  into  partnership  by  Mr.  Ash-  '• 
ley.' 

•Is  it  that  you  are  blundering  over?    Does  he 
expect  it?'  continued  Henry,  after  a  pause. 

'Cyril  said  yesterday,  the  firm  would  soon  be 
Ashley  and  Dare.' 


William  touched  Mary's  hand  in  silence  by 
way  of  adieu,  and  halted  as  he  passed  Henry. 
•Shall  you  come  roand  to  the  men  to-night?' 

'No,  I  shan't,'  retorted  Henry.  »I  am  upset 
for  the  day.'  * 

He  was  half  way  down  the  path  when  he  heard 
himself  called  to  by  Henry,  still  leaning  from  the 
window.     He  went  back  to  him. 

•She  said  she'd  rather  have  a  chimney-sweep 
than  Cyril  Dare.  Don't  go  and  make  a  muff  of 
yourself  again.' 

William  turned  away  without  any  answer.  Mr. 
Ashley,  who  had  waited,  put  his  arm  within  bis, 


'Did  he,   indeed !     He   had   better  not  count   and  they  proceeded  to  the  manufactory, 
upon  it  80  as  to  disturb  his  digestion.    That's  pre-       'Have  you  heard  this  rumour,  respecting  Her- 
sumption  enough,  goodness  knows;  but  it  is  a  flea-   bert  Dare,  that  has  teen  wafted  over  from  Ger- 
bite  compared  to  the  other.     He  has  asked  for   many  within  the  last  day  or  two?'  inquired  Mr. 
Mary.    It    ia    true    as    that    we    are    standing    Ashley,  as  they  walked  along, 
here  '  'Yes,  sir,'  replied  William. 

William  turned  his  questioning  gaie  on  Henry.       'I  wonder  if  it  is  true?' 
He  did  not  understand  ,    |     William   did  not  answer.    William's  prirate 

*Aitwd  for  ber  for  wbat  i  What  to  do?'  j  opiaion  was,  that  it  was  true.    It  bad  btea  tol- 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES.  6S 

erablj  well  autheDficated,  A  rumour  that  need  ■  shoald  Beem  so,  Cyril  did  not  know,  Cyril's  itar- 
not  be  very  .specifically  enlarged  upon  here.  Hel-  ing  was  occasioned  by  that  fact;  he  had  never 
stwnleigh  never  came  to  the  bottom  of  it:  never  been  promoted  to  the  honour  of  thus  walkit;g  fa- 
knew  for  certain  how  much  of  it  was  true,  and  miliarly  with  Mr.  Ashley.  Jn  fact,  for  the  mas- 
how  much  false,  and  we  cannot  expect  to  be  bet-  ter,  a  reserved  and  proud  man  with  all  hi'  good 
ter  favoured  than  Helstonleigh,  in  the  point  of  qualities,  to  link  his  arm  within  a  dependent's, 
enlightenment.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  rumour,  astonished  Cyril  considerably, 
and  the  late  governess's  name  was  umiccounta-  When  they  entered,  Cyril  was  at  work  in  his 
biy  mixed  up  in  it.  For  one  thing,  it  said  that  apron,  standing  at  the  counter  in  the  master's 
Herbert  Dire,  finding  commercial  pursuits  not  room,  steady  and  assiduous,  as  though  he  had 
congenial  to  his  taste,  had  given  them  up,  and  been  there  for  the  last  half  hour.  The  master 
was  roaming  about  Germany.  Mademoiselle  came  in,  but  William  remained  in  Mr.  Lynn's 
also.     It  was  a  report  that  did  not  do  credit  to    room. 

Herbert,  or  tend  to  reflect  respectability  on  his       'Gobd  morning,  sir,'  said  Cyril, 
family;  yet  Mr.  Ashley  fu'ly  believed  that  to  that       'Good  morning,'  replied  the  master, 
report  he  owed  the  application  of  Cyril  with  re-        He  sat  down  to   his  desk  and  opened  a  letter 
gard  to   Mary,  strange  as  it  may  appear  at  the    that  was  lying  on  it.  Presently  he  looked  up. 
first  glance,  to  say  it.     The  application  had  as-        'Cyril!' 
tonished    Mr.   Ashley    beyond    everything.     He        'Yes,  sir. ' 
could  only  come  to  the  conclusion  that  C^  t  il  must        'Step  here. ' 

have  entertained  the  hope  for  some  time,  but  had  Cyril  approached  the  desk,  feeling  what  a  lady 
been  induced  to  disclose  it  prematurely.  So  pre-  mig^hi  call  nervous.  The  decisive  moment  was 
maturely — even  allowing  that  other  circumstances  come:  should  he  be  provided  for,  for  life;  enjoy 
were  favorable — that  Mr.  Ashley  was  tempted  to  a  good  position  and  the  means  of  living  as  a  gen- 
laugh.  A  man  without  means,  without  a  home,  tieman  .'  Or  would  his  unlucky  star  prevail,  and 
without  any  definite  prospects,  merely  a  work-  consign  him  to -he  did  not  quite  foresee  to  what? 
man,  a^  may  be  said,  in  his  manufactory,  upon  a  *I  have  spoken  to  Miss  Ashley.  She  was  ex- 
very  small  salary,  it  was  ridiculous  in  the  ex-  cessively  surprised  at  your  application,  and  begs 
treme  for  him  to  offer  marriage  to  Miss  Ashley,  to  decline  it  in  the  most  uneqiiiv<.ral  manner. 
Mr  Ashley,  of  upright  conduct  in  the  sight  of  Allow  me  to  odd  a  recommendation  from  myself, 
day,  was  not  one  to  wink  at  folly,  any  escapade  ihat  you  bury  in  oblivion  the  fact  of  your  having 
like  that,   now  flying  about   Helstonleigh   as  at-    made  it.* 

tributable  to  Herbert,  would  not  be  an  additional  Cyril  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  looked  fool- 
recommendation  in  Cyril's  favour.     Had  he  hast-    isli      'Why  r' he  asked. 

ened  to  speak  6f/bre  it  should  reach  Mr.  Ashley's  'Why?'  repeated  Mr.  Ashley.  «I  think  jou 
ears.'  Mr.  Ashley  Ihouglit  so.  An  hour  after  could  answer  that  query  for  yourself,  and  save 
Cyril  had  spoken,  he  heard  the  scandal;  and  it  me  the  trouble.  I  do  not  wish  to  go  too  cloi-ely 
flashed  over  his  mind  that  to  that  he  was  in-  into  facis  and  causes,  past  and  prtscnt,  unless  you 
debtcd  for  the  premature  honour.  Cyril  would  desire  it.  One  thing  you  must  be  palpably  aware 
have  liked  to  S'  cure  his  consent  before  anything  of,  Cyril,  that  such  a  proposition  Irom  you  to  my 
unpleasant  transpired.  danghier  was  entirely  out  of  place.   1  should  have 

rejected  it  point   blank  yesltrday;  in  fact,  in   the 
As  Mr.  Ashley  came  in  view  of  the  manufac-    ,.,„„..:ea  r.f  ,»  «  »,„™„  it  i  i         - 

•'  .surprise  of  the  moment,  I  nearly  spoke  out  more 

tory.Cynl  Dare  observed  him  Cyril  was  loung-  p,^i„,y  ^^an  jou  would  have  l.ked,  but  that  I 
ing  in  an  indolent  manner  at  the  entrance  door.,  ^f.^^^^t  it  i%  well  for  you  to  have  Mi»s  Aobley'. 
exchanging  greetings  w  ith  the  various  passers-by.    ^^^^-^^  „  ^^1,  ^^  ^^  „^„  , 

He  ought  to  have  been  inside  at  his  business;  but         „,.  , 

u.  .  f      1  ,.i     .„  ,k  n^^-.i      o-        e  1        'Why  am  1  rejected, sir.'  coDlinued  CTril. 

oughts  went  for  little  with  Cyril.     Since  Samuel  •'  •*  '^^^^  \^jtit. 

Lynn's  departure,  Cyril  had  been  living  in  clover;  ^''-  Ashley  waved  his  hand  with  dignilj.  'Re- 
en  j>y  ing  nearly  as  much  idleness  as  be  liked,  turn  to  your  employment,  Cynl.  It  is  q-jite  suf- 
William  assumed  no  authority  over  him.  though  ficient  for  you  to  know  that  you  are  rejected, 
full  authority  had  been  given  to  William  over  the  without  my  going  into  motives  and  rcasoLs.  Tbtj 
manufactory  in  general;  and  Cyril,  save  when  he  "^'B^^  "«*•  ^  '*J'  *»«  palatable.' 
jusi  happened  to  be  under  Mr.  Ashley's  eye,  Cyril  did  not  venture  to  preis  it  further.  He 
passed  his  time  agreeably.  Cyril  stared  as  the  returned  to  the  counter,  and  stood  there,  (utensi- 
master  came  in  view,  and  then  whisked  in,  his  bIy  going  on  wiih  bis  worU,  and  boiling  over  with 
spirits  going  down  a  little.  To  teo  the  matter  ia.;e.  The  master  sat  some  little  time  lurger,  aod 
thus  walking  confidentially  with  William,  seemed  ilicn  left  the  room.  Soon  after,  Wiilmm  c^b*  ia 
to  »sg\it  uafATOurably  to  his  luit;  thou{h  wbj  it  HU  •y  cau^bt  Lfae  emplojmeiit  of  Cjril. 


6S 


MRS.  HALLIBtRTON'S  TROinSLBSl 


''  'CyrH/  cried  he,  hastily  advancing:  to  bim,  'you  or  opportunity,  Cyril  found  himself  whirled  back- 

mu't  not  make  up  those  tiloves.     I  told  you  yes-  wards   by  a   hand   as   powerful;  and  a  Toice  of 

terday  not  to  touch  them.'  stern  authority  was  demanding  the  meaning  of 

A   dangerous   speech.    Cyril  was  not  unlike  the  scene. 


touchwood  at  that  moment,  liable  to  go  ofiF  into  a 
flame  at  the -slightest  contact.    'You  told  me! 'he 
burst  forth.  'Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  di.  what 
you  choose  to  tell  me?    Try  it  on  for  the  future,  ' 
that's  all.     You  tell  vie  ."  '■ 

*Tney  are  the  very  best  gloves,  and  must  be  ; 
sorted  with  niceity,'  returned  William.  'Don't! 
you  know  that  the  sortiog  of  the  last  parcel  was 
found  fault  with  in  London  ?  It  vexed  the  mas- 
ter; and  he  desired  me  to  do  all  the  sorting  my- 
self, until  Mr.  Lynn  should  be  at  home.' 

•I  choose  to  sort,'  returned  Cyril. 


The  hand,  the  voice,  were  those  of  the  matter. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 


THS   EXPLOtlOK. 


What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Cyril  Dare." 

Had  C>ril  supposed  that  the  master  was  so 

close  at  band,   he  had    subdued  his   passion  to 

something  short  of  striking  a   blow.     He  flood 

•But  you  must  not  sort  in  the  face  of  the  mas-  |  against  the  counter,  his  brow  lowering,  his  eye 


ter's  orders;  or,  if  you  do,  I  must  go  over  them 
again.' 

•That's  right;  praise  up  yourself!'  foamed  Cy- 
ril. "Of  cou'se  you  are  an  efficient  sorter,  and  I 
am  a  bad  one.' 

•You  might  be  as  good  a  sorter  as  anybody,  if  j 
you  chose  K)  give   it  proper  time  and  attention. 
What  a  temper  you  are  in  this  morning.    What's 
the  mailer.'' 

'The  matter  is,  that  I  have  submitted  to  your 
rule  long  enough,  but  I'll  do  it  no  longer,'  was 
the  reply  of  Cyril,  whose  anger  was  gathering 
strength,  and  whose  ill  feeling  towards  William, 
down  dt-ep  in  his  heart  from  long  ago,  had  had 
envy  added  to  it  of  late. 


furious;  Will^^m  looked  angry  too.  Mr.  Ashley, 
calm  and  dignified,  waited  for  an  answer. 

None  came.     Cyril  was   too  excited  to  speak. 

•Will  you  explain  it.''  said  the  master,  turning 
to  William,     'fighting  in  my  counting-house!' 

•I  cannot,  sir,'  replied  William,  recovering  his 
equanimity.  'I  do  not  understand  it.  I  did  noth- 
ing to  provoke  him,  that  1  am  aware  of  It  is  true 
I  said  1  must  go  over  the  gloves  again  that  he  bad 
made  up.' 

'What  are  those  gloves,  flung  there.'' 

•I  was  showing  them  to  him — that  they  were  not 
fit  for  firsts.' 

'Thfcy  are  fit  for  firsts!'  retorted  Cyril,  break- 
ing his  silence,    'i  know  I  did  not  put  a  pair  ia 


William  made  no  reply.  He  carefully  swept )  that  was  not.' 
the  djzens  that  Cyril  bad  made  up  farther  down  |  r^he  master  went  and  picked  up  the  gloves  him- 
the  counter,  that  they  might  be  in  a  stronger  >  geif.  Taking  them  to  the  light,  he  turned  them 
light.  i  about  in  his  tiands. 

•What's  that  for ."  cried  Cyril.    'How  dare  you  ,     .j  g^ould  put  two  of  these  pairs  as  sf con'^s,  and 
meddle  with  my  work.'    They  are  done  as  well  Jo^g  ^j,  thirds,'  remarked   he.     'You  must  have 


as  you  can  do  them,  any  day.' 


been  asleep   when  }ou   put  this  one  among  the 


•x\ow  Where's  the  use  of  your  going  into  this  !  firsts,'  he  continued,  indicating  the  latter  pair, 
passion,  C)ril  •'  What  s  it  foi  .'  Do  you  suppose  |  and  speaking  to  Cyril  Dare.  'It  has  a  ddW  in 
I  go  over  jour  work  again  for  pleasure,  or  to  fii:d  i  it.' 

fault?     i  do  it  because  the  master  has  ordered)     'Of  course   you  will  uphold   Halliburton,  sir, 
me  to  make  up  every  dozen  that  goes  out;  and  if  |  whatever  he  may  say.    That  has  been  the  case  R 
you  do  it  fir.xt  of  all.  it  is  sh«er  waste  of  time. 
See  here,'  added   William,  holding  two  or  three  i 
pairs  towards  him,  Hhese  will  not  do  for  firsts.' 

Angry  C^ril!  He  was  quite  beside  hinwelfi 
with  passion.  It  was  not  this  triflmg  matter  in 
the  daily  business  that  would  have  excited  him; ; 
but  Mr.  Ashley's  rejection,  his  words  altogether, 
bad  turned  Cyril's  blood  into  gall;  and  this  was 
made  the  outlet.  He  da«<hed  the  gloves  out  of 
William's  hand  to  the  farthest  part  of  the  room, 
and  struck  him  a  powerful  blow  on  the  chest.    Jt  ■ 


long  time.' 

He  spoke  in  an  insolent  tone;  such  as  none 
within  the  walls  of  the  manufactory  had  ever 
dared  to  use  to  the  master.  The  master  turned 
upon  him,  speaking  quietly  and  significantly. 

•You  forget  yourself,  Cyril  Dare.' 

•All  he  does  is  right,  and  all  I  do  is  wroDg,' 
persisted  Cyril.  •You  treat  him,  sir,  just  at 
though  you  considered  him  the  gentleman  instead 
of  me.' 

A  half  smile,  which  had  too  much 'of  mockery 


caused  William  to  stagger;  he  was  unprepared  \  in  it  to  please  Cyril,  crossed  the  lips  of  Mr.  Ath- 

for  it;  but  whether  he  would  have  returned  it  I  ley. 

mutt  ramaia  uacerUin.    Before  ther«  was  time  1     'What's  that  you  say  about  btios  a  gentlemaft 


MRS.  flALLIBHIlTON'S  THOUBLM. 


91 


Cyril?    Repeat  it  ^  will    you?    I  should  like  to  ;  ground,  climbed  up  the  door-post,  and  held  on  by 
deqr  it  again.'  'i  in  ^ome  mysterious  manner. 

Mockery,  and  double  mockery!    Cyril's   PUg-       Mr.  Ashley  drew  William  to  his  side,  and  laid 
gestive  ears  detected  it  in   the   lone,    if  no  other    his  hand  upon  him. 
Bars  could,     ll  did  not  improve  his  temper.  )      *lt  has  been  told   roe  that  the  authority  vested 

•The  thing  is  this,  sir;  I  won't  submit  to  this  | '"  Mr  Halliburton  has  not  been  implicitly  oWeyed 
itate  of  aftaiis  any  longer.  I  was  not  placed  j  by  every  one  in  the  manufactory.  1  have  called 
here  to  be  ruled  over  by  him;  and  if  things  can't  j  yo'>  ^'^''^e  me  to  give  you  my  instruciioos  ptr- 
be  put  upon  a  belter  footing,  one  of  us  must  |  tonally  upon  the  point,  that  there  may  be  no  n.is- 
II  J  understanding   for  the   luiure.     Wl,iticM-r  diifc- 

•Then,  as  it  has  come  to  this  explosion,  I  say  '  *'""«  he  may  see  fit  to  give,  jou  w  ill  n-ceive  ihem 
the  same,'   struck   in    William.     Mt  is  high  time /'""«' him,  as  you    would    from   myself.     1  invest 


that  things  were  put  upon  a  better  footing.  Cy- 
ril, you  have  forced  me  to  speak,  and  you  rou^i 
take  the.  consequences  Sir,*  turning  to  the  mas- 
ter, 'my  authority  over  the  men  is  ridiculed  ii. 
their  hearing.     It  ought  not  to  be.' 

'By  whom  .''  demanded  the  master. 

'You  can  a-k  that  question  of  C}ril,  sir.' 

The  master  did  ask   itof  C^ril. 

'Have  you  done  this.'' 

•Possibly  1  have,'  insolently  returned  Cyril. 

•You  know  you  have,'  rejoined  William.  'Onlj 


liim  with  full  and    complete   power.     And  fn  all 
;  Miy  absences  from  the  maiiufaciory,  whether  ihey 
s  may  be  of  an  hour's,  a  dnys   or  any  longer  du- 
ration, Mr   Halliburton  is  its  master.' 

They  touched  their  hair,  turned  and  went  out 
^:is  far  as  the  servinn-room,  collecting  thereto 
<ialk.  In  a  short  while  one  of  Ihero  was  seen 
^coming  back  again;  ;i  prey-haired  man,  a  sorter 
^o)  leather.  He  addressed  himself  to  Mr.  Ash- 
jley. 
')     'We  have  not  disputed  bis  ordcro,  please  sir, 

,  .         ,  •       J-       .    „.   .„  IV       ihat  we  can  call  to  mind;  and  if  we  have  done  it 

yesterday,  when    I   was  giving  directions  to  the  j      .... 

u     J      J  J      11   I       J         J  f  .u».,     unintentional,   we'd   ask    pardon    for  U,    for  it's 

stainers,  he  derided   all   I  said,  and  one  of  them  ,        ,      «,  ,     ui    n  ■ 

,      .      .        t  .    J  J      J        I         I    ,  ,  *"at   we   never   thought   uf.     ^ext  to  yourself, 

inquired  whether  I  had  received  orders  lor  what  ;.   .  ,,    .        .       ,  ,  "  j""««ii, 

T  ,  ...       ..  ir  .k  .u     •.         .,^A  :      -^ir,  we  couldn  t  wish   for   a    better   mailer  nor 

I  was   telling  |hem.     If  the   authority  vested  n  »«     .,     ,  ,     ' 

^         ,        •      .    .L  •1  »•     young  Mr.    Halliburton.     We   think  as  much  of 

rae  18  to  be  undermined,  the  men  will  soon  set  It ;.      ".  .      ...r.^ 

^     ,  <  mm,  sir,  as  we  should  if  he  was  your  own  son.' 

at  nought.'  ; 

Mr.    Ashley    looked    provoked;   more  so  than  |      '^11   right     my    men,'    cheerfully    responded 

,,,.,,.  L       J  .    I  1  •        u    <  Thomas  Ashley. 

William  ever  remembered  to  have  seen  him.  H-  >  •' 

paused  a  moment,  his  lips  quivering  angrily,  and  j      ^""^  ^*«  ''"t  Cyril   put  in  the  back-ground  by 

then  flung  open  the  counting-house  door.  i  t^is .'     As  ba<l  as  Dick   had    been,  and  Cjti.  lad 

'Dick''  j  no  door  post  to  climb  up,  and   so  obtain  vantage 

Dick,  a  young  tinker  of  ten,  black  in  clothes  |  *^round.  He  had  stood  with  his  bark  to  the  crowd 
and  in  skin,  came  flying  at  the  summons  and  its  j  ^''<1  ^is  face  to  the  counter.  When  the  men  were 
unusually  stern  tone.  j"^"^  '^f  bearing,  he  turned  and  walked  up  to  the 

•Please,  sir.-'  j  master. 

•Ring  the  large  bell.'  /      'It  is  the  place  I  thought  to  fill,' said  he.     'It  is 

Dick  stared  with  all    his  eyes  at   hearing  the  ;  the  place  that  was  promised  me.' 
words      To  ring  the  large  bell  between  ten  anc  '     'Not    promised,'    replied    Mr.    Ashley.     'Not 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  was  a  marvel  that  |  ijiought  to  be  promised.     A  very  long  while  ago, 
had  never  happened  in   Dick's  experience.     But  |  you   may  have  been    spoken  of  conditionally,  as 
the  master's  orders  were  to  be  obeyed,  not  ques- ;■  likely  to  fill  it.     Conditionally,  1  say.' 
tioned;  and  Dick,  seizing  upon  the  bell,  carried  ^     •Conditionally  on  what,  sir.'' 
it  to  the  usual  place,  and    rung  out  a  prolonged        «On  your  fitness   for    it.     By  conduct  and  by 
peal.      The    master    looked     into    the    serving-    capability.' 
room.  /      'What  is  the  matter  with  my  conduct,  sir.''re- 

'Jaoses  Meeking,  I  have  ordered  the  bell  rung    lurntd  Cjnl,  his  lone  a  shaip  one. 
for  the  men.     Pass    the   word    for  them  to  come        'It  if    had,'  rurllj   replied  Mr.  Ashley.     'De- 
into  my  room;  and  do   you  and  East  come  with 'cejtfui   in   public — bad    in  private,     i  have  told 
them.'  vou  once  before  tl/i»  morning  tfat  I  do  not  care  to 

The  men  appeared,  flocking  from   all  parts  of ;  go  into  details;  you  must  know  that  there  is  no 
1  the  premises,  their  astonishment  certainly  not  in- '  necessity.' 
ferior  to  Dick's      What  could  be  the  meaning  of '      Cjril  paused.       ^ 

the  wholesale  summoning  to  the  presence  of  the  .     '1  hare  been  led  to  expect,  sir,  that  you  would 
master.'    They  ilooU    there  crowding,  a  sea  oJ    lake  lac  uao  partnership.' 
eart*us   faeei.     Dick,    «oosigB«d    to  iL*  b««k- .     'Met  by  jut,' sud  tlienaat«r. 


MUS.  HALLIBCRTOIT'S  TROtJBLBl. 


'My  father  and  motbcr  have  given  me  the  hope 
ever  since  I  came.' 

'I  Cannot  help  that — they  had  no  warranty  for 
it.' 

♦They  have  always  said  I  should  be  made  your 
panner  and  sonin-law,'  persisletl  Uyril. 

*Th  y  have!  Jt  is  very  obliging  of  them,  I  am 
sure,  to  f'Cttle  m)  allairs  for  me,  including  iht 
disposal  of  my  daughter.  Pray  what  nice  iiUii 
destiny  may  they  have  carved  out  for  Mrs  Ash 
ley,  or  for  my  bon  ?' 

Cjnt  chafed  at  the  words.  He  would  have 
liked,  just  then,  to  fight  Mr.  Ashley,  as  he  hac 
foujiht  William. 

•Would  I  ever  have  demeaned  myself  to  enter 
a  gl<.ve  manufactory,  disgracing  my  family,  hai 
I  known  I  was  to  be  but  a  workman  in  ii.''  b< 
cried.  'No,  sir,  that  I  never  would.  1  am  served 
rightly,  for  putting  myself  out  of  ray  position  as- 
a  gentleman.' 

Mr.  Ashley,  but  for  the  pity  he  felt,  could 
have  laughed  outright.  He  really  did  feel  pitj 
for  Cyril;  he  believed  that  the  unhappy  way  ii. 
which  the  young  Dares  were  turning  out  mighi 
be  laid  to  the  fault  of  their  rearing,  and  this  had 
rendered  him  considerate  to  Cyril.  How  consid- 
erate he  had  for  a  long  while  been,  he  himstj 
alone  knew;  Cyril  perhaps  suspected. 

•It  i8  a  shame  !'  cried  Cyril.  'To  be  dealt  will 
in  this  way  is  nothing  less  than  a  fraud  upon  me 
I  was  led  to  expect  that  I  should  be  made  youi 
partner.' 

•Slay  a  bit,  Cyril.  I  am  willing  to  put  you 
rio'ht  upon  the  point.  The  proposal  that  yoi 
should  be  placed  here,  emanatvd  in  the  first  in 
stance  from  your  father.  He  came  to  me  om 
day,  here,  in  this  very  room,  saying  that  he  con 
eluded  1  should  not  put  Henry  to  business,  ana 
he  thought  it  would  be  a  fine  opening  for  his  so- 
Cyril you.  He  hinted  that  1  should  want  some- 
body to  succeed  me;  and  that  you  might  come  U 
it  with  that  view.  But  1  most  distinctly  dis 
•laimed  endorsing  that  hint  in  the  remotest  d» 
gree.  I  would  not  subscribe  to  it  so  much  as  I  j 
a  vague  "Perhaps  it  may  be."  All  that  I  cun- 
ced' d  upon  the  point  was  this.  I  told  Mr.  Dar 
that  when  tl'C  time  came  for  me  to  be  looking  ou 
for  some  one  to  succeed  me — if  it  ever  did  com> 

and  I   found    his     son — you — had    served   mt 

faithfully,  was  upright  in  conduct  and  in  heart- 
one,  in  short,  whom  i  could   thoroughly  confidi 

ill «  by,  then  he  should  have  the  preference  ovti 

any  other.     So   much  I  did  say,  Cyril,  but  no 
more.' 

'And  why  won't  you  give  me  the  preference, 

sir !' 

Mr.  Ashley  looked  at  him,  apparently  in  sui 
prise  that  be  couid  ask  the  question.   He  bent  his, 


head  forward,  and  spoke  in  &  ]ow  tone,  batooe 

full  of  meaning. 

•Upright  in  conduct  and  in  heart,  I  said,  Cyril. 
It  was  an  insuperable  condition.' 

Cyril's  gaze  fell  before  Mr.  Ashley's.  His  con- 
science may  have  been  pricking  him,  and  he  had 
the  grace  to  look  ashamed  of  himself.  There  en- 
><ued  a  pause. 

Presently  Cyril  looked  up. 

'Then  I  am  to  understand,  sir,  that  all  hope  of 
oeing  your  partner  and  successor  is  over  ?' 

'It  is.  It  has  been  over  this  many  a  year,  Cyril. 
I  should  be  wrong  to  deal  otherwise  than  per- 
fectly plain  with  you.  Were  you  to  reform  any 
•  hing  there  may  have  been  amiss  in  your  conduct, 
•o  become  a  model  of  excellence  in  the  sight  of 
Helstonleigh,  1  could  never  admit  your  name  to 
ne  associated  with  mine.  The  very  notion  is  of- 
fensive to  me.' 

Cyril — it  was  a  great  wonder — restrained  his 
lassion. 

'Perhaps  I  had  better  leave,  then  ''  he  said. 

'You  are  welcome  to  stay  until  you  can  find  a 
iluation  more  congenial,'  replied  Mr.  Ashley. 
'Provided  you  undertake  to  behave  yourself.' 

'Stay — and  for  nothing  at  the  end  !'  echoed 
'yiil.  'No,  that  I  never  will.  If  1  must  remain 
I  dependent,  I'll  try  it  on  at  something  else.  I 
■  m  sick  of  this.' 

He  untied  his  apron,  dashed  it  on  the  floor,  and 
vent  out  without  another  word.  So  furiously  did 
e  stamp  through  the  serving-room,  that  .Tames 
■leeking  turned  round  to  look  at  him,  and  Dick, 
aking  a  recreative  balance  at  that  moment  on 
he  edge  of  an  upright  coal-scuttle,  thought  he 
oust  be  running  for  the  fire-engines.  Dick's 
peculiUions  were  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  the 
naster's  voice,  calling  to  him. 

He  hastened  to  the  counting-house,  and  was 
irdered  to  'take  that  apron  away  '  Dick  picked 
t  up  and  withdrew  with  it,  folding  it  carefully 
-;rainst  Mr.  Cyril  should  come  in.  Dick  little 
ihought  the  manufactory  had  seen  the  last  of 
him. 

Mr.  Ashley  was  indulging  in  a  quiet  laugh. 
■Demeaning  himself  by  entering  my  manufactory  ! 
!)isgracing  his  family — the  high  blood  of  the 
l^ares  !  Poor  Cyril !  William,  do  you  look  at  it; 
in  the  same  light.-'' 

William  had  remained  in  the  room,  taking  no 
part  whatever  in  the  final  contest.  He  had  stood 
■vith  his  back  to  them,  following  his  occupation. 
He  turned  round  now. 

'Sir,  you  know  I  do  not.' 

'You  once  told  me  it  presented  no  field  for  gct- 
litiii  on.  W^hat  was  the  word  you  used  .' — was  it 
imbition.^  Truly,  there's  not  niuch  of  ambition 
attached  to  it«    Nevertheless,  I  am  satisfied  with 


MRS.  ilALLlBUaTON'S  TaOUBUSS. 


S9 


my  career,  William,  although  I  am  but  tho  glove  }      «Di!«charge  William  Halliburton!'  echoed  Mr. 
manufacturer,  Thomas  Ashley.'  Ashley  in  surprise.     *I  could  as  soon  discharge 

He  satisfied  !    flow  many  a  one  would  be  proud  ;  myself.     William  is  the  right  hand  of  the  busi- 
to  be  in   the  position  of  Thomas  Ashley !     Wil-jness.     It  could  get  along  without  me,  but  I  am- 
liam  did  not  saj  so.     He  began  to  speak  of  Cyril ;  not  sure  that  it  could  without  him.' 
Dare.  ;      'Cyril  can  take  his  place.' 

'Do  you  think  he  will  come  back  again,  sir?'     \     'C>ril  is  not  qualified  for  it.     And ' 

•I  do  not  think  he  will      Should  he  do  so,  the  |     'Cyril  declares  he  will  never  enter  the  place 
doors  are  closed  to  him.     He  has  left  of  his  own  \  again,  so  Iohr  as  Halliburton  is  in  it.' 
accord,  and  I  shall  not  allow  him  to  return.'         ':     'Cyril   never  will  enter  it  again,' quietly  re- 

'I  am  very  sorry,'  remarked  William.     'It  has  <  joined  Mr.  Ashley.     'Cyril  and  I  have  parted.     I 


been  partially  my  fault. ' 

'Do  not  make  yourself  uneasy.  I  have  loler- 
akd  €<■  ril  Dare  here;  have  allowed  him  to  remain 
on  snfTer.ince;  and  that  is  the  best  that  can  be 
said  of  it.' 

•He  may  feel  it  as  a  blow.' 

'As  a  jubilee,  you  mean.  It  will  be  nothine 
less  to  him.     He  has  hated  the  manufactory  witj. 


/  will  give  you  his  wages  for  this  week,  now  that 
vou  are  here;  legally,  though,  he  could  not  claim 
them.' 

Mr.  Dare  looked  sad— gloomy.  It  was  only 
'vhat  he  had  expected  for  some  time  past.  'You 
promised  to  do  well  by  him,  Mr.  Ashley;  to  take 
him  into  partnership.' 

•  You  must  surely  remember  that  I  promised  no- 


all  his  heart  from  the  moment  he  first  entered  it,  :  thing  of  the  sort,' said  Mr.  Ashley.  'I  have  been 
and  is  now,  if  we  could  see  him,  kicking  up  hi.s  >  telling  the  same  thing  to  Cynl.  All  I  said-and 
heels  with  delight  at  the  emancipation.  Cyrii;  a  shrewd,  business-man,  as  you  are,  could  not 
Dare  my  partner!'  i  fail  thoroughly  to  understand  me,' he  pointedly 

William  continued  his  work,  saying  nothing.  ;:added-'was,  that  I  would  choose  Cyril  in  pre f- 
Mr.  Ashley  resumed.  :;erence  to  others,   provided    he    proved   himself 

'I  must  be  casting  my  thoughts  around  for  a  fit'  vvorthy  of  the  preference.  Circumstances  appear 
substitute  to  succeed  to  the  post  of  ambition  Cj-  :  to  have  worked  entirely  against  the  carrying  out 
ril  coveted.    Can  you  direct  me  to  any  quarter,  ^  "^  the  idea,  Mr.  Dare. 
William''  ''      'What  circumstances?' 

Mr.  Ashley  was  now  standing  at  William'-  '  Mr.  Ashley  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  the 
side,  looking  at  him  as  he  went  over  the  glove-  ■  question  was  repeated  in  a  hasty,  almost  an  im- 
left  by  Cyril.  He  saw  the  red  flush  mount  to  hi-  <  'crative  tone.  Then  Mr.  Ashley  answered  it. 
face.  Mr.  Ashley  laid  his  hand  on  William'- j  'I  do  not  wish  to  say  a  word  that  should  uone- 
shoulder,  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  full  of  em..  I  es^arily  hurt  your  feelings;  but  in  a  matter  of 
tion.  ^►lUMness    I    believe  there   is  no   resource  but  to 

•It  may  come,  my  boy;  my  almost  son!  And  ;  peak  plainly.  The  unfortunate  notoriety  ac- 
when  Thomas  Ashley's  head  shall  be  low  in  th.  J.juired.  in  one  way  or  other,  by  your  sons,  has 
grave,  the  leading  manufacturer  of  this  city  ma\  /  -^ndered  the  name  of  Dare  so  conspicuous  that, 
be  William  Halliburton.'  J     ere  there  no  other  reason,  it  could  never  be  ai- 

A  considerable  rapping  at  the  door  with  a  thici  '  •  ciated  with  mine.' 
stick  interrupted  the  master's  word*.  He  lurne  ^  'Conspicuous  ?  How  ?'  interposed  Mr.  Dare, 
to  behold  Mr.  Dare.  It  appeared  that  Cyril  hs'  /  ly^P  Ashley  would  not  have  believed  the  wordii 
by  chance  met  his  father  in  the  street  almost  im  I  ^^^^  uttered  as  a  question,  but  that  the  answer 
medialel)  afi«^r  goin^  out;  he  had  voiunteend  i  i  ^,^^  evidently  waited  for  'You  atik  k<ne,'  bo 
him  a  most  exaggerated  account,  and  Mr.  Dar  >  ^j^j  «.surely  1  need  not  remind  you.  The  »r«n- 
had  come,  as  he  said,  to  learn  the  riphts  of  it.        ;  jgi  which,  in    more  way*  than   one,  attached  to 

William  left  the  roorn.  He  could  not  avoi  ',  .\nihony— though  I  am  sorry  to  allude  to  him, 
remarking  the  bowed,  broken  down  appearamrt  ^^^p  fellow,  in  any  such  way;  the  circumitancrj 
of  the  man      Mr.  Ashley  related  thcparticular^.  ^^,^^^1^^^,,^  trial  of  Herbert;  the ' 

and  the  listener  was  obliged  to  arknowledge  tha'  ..  ,  »«     r^ 

•  Herbert  was  innocent,' interrupted  Mr.  Dare. 

•Innocent  of  the  murder,  no  doubt;  as  innocent 
ts  you  or  I.  But  people  make  free  with  his  nsme 
m  other  ways;  had  often  madi-  free  with  it  And 
in..k  at  this  last  report,  wafted  o»er  lo  ui  from 
Germany,  that  is  juttt  now  tstoiu-hmg  the  city  '.' 

■Haug  bim  for  a  aimpietoo!'  burst  forth  Mr. 
Dare. 

'It  is  til  »o  much  diicrediton  the  nam*— on  iU« 


Cyril  had  been  lo  blame — had  bee#loo  hasty. 

'I   confess  it  appears  so,'  he  said.     *He  must 
have  been  led  away  by  temper.  But,  Mr.  At^ilei 
you  ought  to  stretch  a  point,  and  make  a  conce* 
sion.     We  are  kinsmen.' 

'What  concession.'' 

•Discharge  William  Halliburton.  Things  can 
never  go  on  smoothly  between  him  and  ^yril. 
Stretch  a  point  to  oblige  us,  and  send  him  away.' 

n 


99 


MAS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


family  altogether,'  concluded  Mr.  Ashley,  as  if  ^advice.    He  repeated  to-day,  that  you  and  Mm. 
his  sentence  had  not  been  inlerrupled.  <Ddre  ha^  led  hitn  to  look  to  Mary.' 

'The  faults  of  his  brothers  ought  to  be  no  good  I     'Well?'  returned   Mr.   Dare.    'But  I  did  not  . 
reason  for  your  rejecting  Cyril.*  ^know  he  had  spoken.' 

•They  are  not  the  reason  of  my  rejecting  him,'?     'How  could  you — excuse  mc,  I  again  say,  if  I 
quietly  returned  Mr.  Ashley.  ^ana  plain — how  could  you  ever  have  entertained 

'Xo?    You  have  just  said  they  were. '  >so  wild  an  idea?' 

'I  said  the  notoriety  i^ivon  by  your  sons  to  the  i  'Perhaps  you  would  like  to  call  it  a  presump- 
uaine  of  Dare"  would  bar  its  association  with  Muous  one.'' chafed  Mr.  Dare, 
mine.  In  §aying"your  son?,"  I  include.d  Cyril  J  'I  do  call  it  so,' returned  Mr.  Ashley.  'It  can 
hlms-elf.  He  interposes  the  greatest  barrier  ol  'be  regarded  as  nothing  less;  any  impartial  person 
all.  Were  the  rest  of  them  of  good  report  iii  5  Aould  tell  you  so.  I  put  out  of  the  discussion  al- 
thc  sight  of  day,  Cyril  is  not.'  j  together  the  want  of  means  on  the  part  of  Cyril; 

^•What'.i   the   matter    with    him.''    asked   Mr.  f  1  speak  of  its  suitability.     That  Cyril  should  have 
Dare.  ',  aspired  to  an  alliance  with  Mary  Ashley  was  pre- 

'I  do  not  care  to  tell  you.     A  great  deal  of  it  ^  --umption  in  the  highest  degree.    It  has  displeased 
you  must  know.'  <;  me  very  much,  and  Henry  looks  upon  it  in  the 

'Go  on,' cried  Anthony  Dare,  who  was  lean- j ''fjht  of  an  insult.' 
ing  forward  in  his  chair,  his  chin   resting  on  his  i     'Who's  Henry^'  scornfully  returned  Mr.  Dare. 
stick,  like  one  who  sets  himself  calmly  to  hear   'A  dreamy  hypochondriac  !     Pray,  is  Cyril  not  as 
the  whole.  ^  well  born  as  Mary  Ashley .'' 

'C3Til'8  private  conduct  is  bad.     He '  <     'Has  be  been  as  well  reared.'    Is  he  proving 

'Foilies   of  youth   only,'  cried   old   Anthony.  J  that  he  has  been  .>  A  man's  conduct  is  of  far  more 
'He  will  outlive  them.'  j  importance  than  his  birth.' 

•Youth's  follies  sometimes  end  in  "manhood's       'It  would  seem  that  you  care  little  about  birth, 

crimes,'  was  the  reply.    'I  am  thankful  that  my  jor  rearing  either,  or  jou  would  not  exalt  Halli- 

son  is  free  from  them.'  ^burton  to  a  level  with  yourself.' 

iir  ir      »..  „„j    A.wK^i^,,  rko..^    ««„„!,;,,«,  5     The  master  fixed  his  expressive  eyes  on  An- 

•  Your  son !' returned  Anthony  Dare,  coughing?  '^  J 

down  his  slighting  tone.     'Your  son  is  one  apart.  ^ 

He  has  not  the  health  to  be  knocking  about. 

young  men  are  worth  anything,  they  are  sure  to  ; 

be  a  bit  wild.' 

A  frown  passed  over  the  master's  brow.     'You  1 

are  mistaken,  Mr.   Dare.     Young  men  who  are; 


■  thonyDare.     Halliburton's  birth  is,  at  any  rate, 
T/.^)as  good  as  your  family's  and  mine.     His  father's 
mother  and  your  wife's  father  were  brother  and 
;  sister.' 

Old  Anthony  looked  taken  by  surprise.  'I  don't 
know  anything    about    it,'  said    he,  somewhat 

.  ,/.,,<  roughly.    'I  know  a  little  of  how  he  has  been 

worth  anythmg  keep  themselves  from  such  folly.  ;„.^^^  ^^  ^^^  ^.^  brothers.' 

Opinions  have  taken  a  turn.     Society  is  becom-  ^     .g^  ^^  ,^.  ^^.^  j^^   j^  .j  ^.^^  ^  ^^^  ^^^^ 

ing  more  sensible  w.th  the  world  s  increased  en-    ,^  ^,^^  ^^^j^  ^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^  .^  ^^^  ^^^^  , 

lightenment;  and  ill  conduct,  although  its  pur- J     .^j,^,  ^^^       ^^^^    j,^^„   ^^^^   ^^  ^^^^  ,,    ^^. 

suer  may  be  a  fashionable  young  man,  is  begin- z    ,  •„„.      u    »    .u  -         .     -i         *      .rru 

J  ^  .  ,  ,  /'Claimed   old   Anthony,  in  astonishment.     'They 

nine:  to  be  cal  ed  by  its  right  name.     Wou  d  you'll  „„„  „  .  .  ,„    ...  .,  mu      u        _  * 

^  ,  J  have  not  been  bred  as  gentlemen.  They  have  not 

believe  'that  Cyril  has,  more  than  once,  come  here  ) ,  „  j  „„„„„u  ,„  „„f  , 
•'  '  (■  tiad  enough  to  eat. 

-I  hesitate  to  say  the  word,  it  is  so  ugly  a  one-       -p^e  concluding  sentence  elicited  an  involun- 
drunk  .^^    Drunk,  Mr.  Dare!'  t^^^  j^^^t^  f^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^    .^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^ 

^  want   does    not    appear    to    have  stinted    their 
"^    ^^'  ^  growth,  or  injured  them  in  a  physical  point  of 

'Then  he  must  have  been  a  fool  for  his  pains,' j  ^j^^,.  he  rejoined,  a   touch  of  sarcasm   in  his 
was  the  angry  retort  of  old  Anthony.  ^  ^^^^^     .^hey  are  fine  grown  men;  and,  Mr.  Dare, 

•He  is  untruthful;  he  is  idle;  he  is  deceitful— ^  they  are  geni^emcn,  whether  they  have  been  bred 
but  I  do  not,  I  say,  care  to  go  into  this.     Were  i  as  such  or  not.     Gentlemen  in  looks,  in  manners, 
you  cognizant  of  the  application  Cyril  made  to  ^  and  in  mind  and  heart.' 
me  yesterday,  respecting  my  daughter.''  |     «I  don't  care  what  they  are,'  again  repeated  old 

'I  don't  know  tif  any  application.'  ^Anthony.     'I   did   not  come   here  to  talk  about 

•He  did  me  the  honour  to  make  her  an  ofier  of  ^^^'''"••^"'  about  Cyril.     Your  exalting  Hallibur- 

mirria^e  '  I '°"  '"^°   ^^^   general    favour   that    ou^ht  legiti- 

,.,    ,    ,  .      ,  /mutely  to  have  been  Cyril's,  is  a  piece  of  irijus- 

Old    Anthony    hfted    his    head    .harply,    not  J  ^i,,,  Cyrii  says  jou  have  this  morning  aimounced 
speakmg.    The  master  continued:  J  publicly  that  Halliburton   is  the  master,  under 

•He  said  yesterday  that  he  was  acting  by  your  ^  you.    It  is  a  flagrant  injustice.' 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON '3  TROUBLES.  M 

*No  man  living  lias  ever  had  cause  to  tax  me  looked  wonderinglj  at  mo  in  return,  1  casually 
with  injustice,'  impressively  angwefed  Thomas 'added  that  there  was  no  cause  to  put  Mr.  Cyril  to 
Ashley,  '1  have  been  far  more  just  to  Cyril  than  an  employment  lie  paiticularly  disliked,  while  ho 
he  deserves.  Stay — "just"  is  a  wrong  word.  I  could  call  upon  East  to  hilp  him,  or  in  case  of 
have  been  far  more  lenient  to  him.  Shall  1  tell  J  necessity,  upon  Mr.  Halliburton.  Never  think 
you  that  I  have  kept  him  on  here  out  of  compas- ;  again,  Mr.  Dare,  that  I  have  been  unjust  to 
sion,  in  the  hope  that  the  considerate  way  injyourson.  If  1  have  erred  at  all,  it  ha«  been  on 
which  I  treated  him  might  be  an  inducement  to  jlhe  side  of  kindness.' 

him  to  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  discard  his  ]  Tj,erc  was  a  long  pause.  Anthony  Dare  prob- 
faults.'  I  would  not  turn  him  away  to  be  a  town's  /  ^ly  was  feeling  the  kindness,  in  spite  of  him- 
talk.     Down  deep    within    the    archives  of  my  fg^jf^  ^ 

racmorv.  mv  own  sole   knowledge,  I  buried  the  >  v    j   .  i  •       e  •     %  ■ 

iv/.j,uijr  ""  t>  >  'What  have  you  had   to   couiplam  of  in  luni 

great  fault  of  which  he  was  guilty  here.    He  was  ,.^^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^J 
young— and  I  would  not  take  from  him  his  fair 

fame  on  the  very  threshold  of  his  commercial  'Not  of  any  more  robberj— but  of  his  general 
y,  Sconduct  a  great  deal.     He  is  deceitful — he  has 

'  'Great  fault  ?'  hesitated  Mr.  Dare,  looking  half  appeared  here  in  the  stale  I  have  hinted  to  you- 
-.  ,         J  he  is  incorrigibly  idle.     He  probably  fancies,  be- 

, ' Thomas  Ashley  inclined  his  head,  and  lowered  cause  I  do  not  take  a  very  active  part  in  the  man- 
his  voice  to  a  deeper  whisper.  .agement  of  my  business,   and   my  work-people, 

.    .      ,    ,        ,  ,)  that  1  sit  here  with  my  eyes  shut,  seeing  little  and 

'When  he   robbed  my  desk  of  the  cheque,  1,         .,         ru*  j  ti- 

J  1     .      'knowing  less  of  what  goes  on  around  me.     He  is 

fancv  Tour  own   suspicions  of  him  were  to  the  ;  .•   n        •  .  i  i  »     r    n 

liiii^j   juui   u».ii   ou  ^  jessentially  mistaken — I  am  cognizant  of  all — at 

full  as  much  awakened  as  mine.  /         ,  ,  ,  o  i  t 

luii  us  luui-ii  a.T,  )much  so,  or  nearly  as  much  so,  as  Samuel  Lynn 

There  was  no  reply,  unless  a  groan  from  An-  i  ^ould  be,  were  he  at  his  post  sgain.  Look  at 
thuny  Dare  could  be  called  such.  His  hands,  Tj,J5  go^tjng  of  Ihe  gloves,  for  in^ance— the  very 
supporting  his  chin,  reatcd  on  his  stick  still.  Mr.  jihing  about  which  the  disturbance  occurred  just 
Ashley  resumed —  jnow.  Cyril  can  sort,  if  he  pleases;  he  is  as  capa- 

'I  became   convinced,   though  not   in  the  first ,  ^je  of  sorting  ihem  properly  as  I  should  be— pcr- 

bJush  of  the  affair,  that  the  transgressor  was  no  'hgpg  more  so;  but  he   does  not  do  it:  and  every 

other  than   Cyril;   and   I   deliberated   what   myjdozen  he  attempts  to  make  up  have  to  be  done 

course  should  be.     Natural  impulse  would  have  |  over  again.     In  point  of  fact,  he  has  been  ef  no 

led  me  to  turn  him  away,  if  not  to  prosecute.  The  -  real  use  here;  for  nothing  that  he  attempts  to  d«. 

latter  would  scarcely  have  been  palatable  towards  i  will  he  do  well.     A  fit   hand  to  fill  the  post  of 

one  of  my  wife's   kindred.     What  was  I  to  do  j  manager  !    Taking  ail  these  facts  into  considera- 

with  him.'  Turn  him  adrift  without  a  character?  |  jjq„^.  added  the  master, 'you  will  not  be  surprised 

and  a  character  that  would   get  him  any  other  Jihai  an  offer  of  marriage  from  Cyril  Dare  to  my 

situation  of  confidence,  I  could  not  give  him.     I;  daughter,  bears   an   appearance  Jillle   rcmovcfl 

resolved  to  keep  him   on.     For  his  own  sake  \\[f^,m  i„>uK.' 

would  give  him  a  chance  of  redeeming  what  he ,     g^  .^  ^^^  ^„  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^  ^^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^ 

may  have  done  in  a  moment's  thoughtless  tempta- ,  ^^^  ^^  ^^^   ^^  ^^  ^.^  ^^^  ,^.^  .      ^^  ,    j^  ^,^ 

tion.     I  spoke  to  him   privately.     I  did  not  tell  j^^^^  ^,.  ^^j^  pr^pecis. 

him  in   so   many   words   that  I   knew  him  to  be  /  .      i,    .    j  s,  u    u    r        .u    v        e 

.      .  ,,      .       ,,      ■       ,  .  .„„j  ,u„4       'What  IS  he  to  do  now?'  broke  from  the  lips  cf 

cuiltv;  but  he  could  not  well  misunderstand  that;,        .  ^  *^ 

*■  .  .  1        J      I  .^M    n.«   u-   )  Anthony  Dare, 

my  suspicions  were  awakened.     1  told    him  nis  /  •' 

conduct  had  not  been  good— not  such  that  I  could  '  'Indeed  1  do  not  know;  unless  he  changes  hii 
approve;  but  that  I  was  willing,  for  his  own  sake,  j  habits  he  will  do  no  Rood  at  anything.' 
to  bury  the  past  in  silence,  and  retain  him,  as  a  (  'Won't  you  lake  him  back?' 
last  chance.  I  very  distinctly  warned  him  what  J  .jy„.  unequivocally  pronounced  Mr.  Aihlc>. 
would  be  the  consequences  of  the  smallest  repe- ;  .He  has  left  of  his  own  accord,  and  he  musl  abide 
tition  of  his  fault;  that  no  consideration  for  my-;  by  it.  Stay— hear  me  out.  Were  1  to  allow  him 
self  or  for  him  would  induce  me  to  look  over  it  ij^  return,  he  would  not  remain  a  week;  lam 
a  second  time.  Thus  he  stayed  on — I  giving  an  certain  of  it.  That  Cyril  has  been  acting  a  ptrt 
eye  to  his  conduct  continually,  and  taking  due  -to  beguile  me  of  my  favour  with  regard  to  lho»« 
precautions  for  the  protection  of  my  propcity,  foolish  hopes  of  bi»,  there  is  no  doubl.  The 
and  keeping  fast  my  keys  James  Meeking  re- /  hopes  gone,  he  would  not  ke»p  up  c^en  the  scm- 
ceived  my  orders  that  Mr-  Cyril  should  never  be>hlarice  of  good  conduct;  neither  would  he  tul'- 
called  upon  to  help  pay  the  mrii,or  to  helpcount  >  niil  to  the  rule  of  William  Hallibudon.  It  i« 
thf  packet's  of  half-pence;  and   when  the  man 'bt?t  as  it  !■;  he  it  gonr,  and  ho  canno!  r»lnm. 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


My  opinion  is,  that  were  the  offer  of  return  made ;  all.     He  procured  literary  employment:  writing 
to  him,  he  would  reject  it.'  ;  a  leading  article  for  one  of  the  daily  papers,  and 

Mr.  Dare's  opinion  was  not  far  different,  al-' csntributing  to  sundry  reviews, 
though  he  had  pleaded  for  the  concession.  '      Gar,  too,  bad  quitted  Cambridge  with  unusual 

'Then  you  will  not  make  him  your  partner?'  credit,  though  he  was  not  senior  wrangler.  No- 
he  resumed.  <  body  but  Gar,  perhaps,  knew  that  he  had  aspired 

•Mr.  Dare!'  <  to  that  proud  distinction,  so  it  did  not  signify      A 

'Isuppo-e  you  will  take  Halliburton?'  <  more  solid  scholar,  or  one  with  a  higher  character 

'It  is  very  probable.  Whoever  I  take  must  be  ;  in  the  besi  sense  of  the  term,  never  left  the  Uni- 
a  man  of  probity  and  honour;  and  a  gentleman,' ,  versity  lo  be  ordained  by  the  Bishop  of  Helston- 
he  added,  with  a  stress  upon  the  word.  'William  •  leign — or  by  any  other  prelate  on  the  bench.  He 
llailiburtoh  is  all  that.'  '■  had  a  choice  of  a  title  to  orders.     His  uncle,  the 

Anthony  Dare  rose  with  a  groan.  He  couldl  ReverenJ  Francis  Tail — who.  like  his  father  be- 
contend  no  longer.  '^fore  him,  had,  after  many  years' service,  obtained 

'iVIy  sons  have  been  my  banc,'  he  uttered  from  >  a  living — had  olfered  Gar  his  title.  Buta  clergy- 
between  his  bloodless  lips.  'I  wonder,  some-j  man  in  the  county  of  Helstonieigh  had  also  offered 
times,  whether  they  were  born  bad.'  jhim  one,  and   Gar,   thanking  his   uncle,   chose 

•No,'  said  Thomas  Ashley.    •The  badness  has  \  Helstonleigh. 


come  with  their  rearing.' 


William's  dream  of  ambition  was  fulfilled;  the 
dream  which  he  had  not  indulged;  for  it  had 
J  seemed  all  too  high  and  vague.  He  was  Mr.  Ash- 
<  ley 's  partner.  The  great  firm  in  Helstonleigh  was 
'Ashley  and  Halliburton. 
'     Ashley  and  Halliburton  !     And  the  event  had 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


/been  so  gradually,  so  naturally  led  to,  that    Hel- 
^stonleigh  was   not    surprised   when  it   was   an- 


MR.    FRANK    •'CALLED." 


(Hounced.  Of  course  William  received  as  yet  buta 
fsmall  share  of  the  profit?:  how   small    or  how 

Akd  now  there  occurs  another  gap  in  the  story  |  '''^'  ^'7°'  ,'^'^°^"-  .  "f  i^^«"'-'Sh  racked  its 
-a  gap  of  years;  and  we  have  entered  on  ^l^^':^-'^'y^o  get  ^t  particulars,  and  racked  it  in 
third  and  last  part.  '  '^^^°'  ^^^  assumed  beyond  doubt:  that 

rriu        «•     4.      iij  •        r  41,    Ti  ii-i      .               :  a  portion  of  the  profits  was  secured  to  Henrv  in 

The  patient  well-doing  of  the  Halhburtons  was ',             ./.«»...     .     ,      "'^"  <•"  iicmj  m 
..      c    -,•        .1    •       .         1                     n     the  event  of  Mr.  Ashley  s  death, 
approaching  fruition,  their  struggles  were  well- ,     ,1,.,,.                            ■' 

.  .                  1  4U                    J    .      1      .u  •         .  ^      William  was  now  virtually  the  sole  roaster  of 

nigh  over,  and  they  were  ready  to  play  their  part,                                                   ^    "<.- ^uio  uja»it.j  oi 

for  success  or  for  failure,  in  the  great  drama  of 

life.    Jane's  troubles  were  at  an  end. 


the  business.     Mr.  Ashley  had   partially   retired 


from  the   raanufaclory:    at   least,  his  visits  to  it 
;  were  of  occurrence  so  rare  as  almost  to  amount 

There  was  not  space  to  trace  the  life  of  Frank  >  to  retirement.  Samuel  Lynn  was  the  manager, 
and  Gar  at  the  Universities,  to  record  word  by^asof  old;  William  had  assumed  Mr.  Ashley's 
word  how  they  bore  onward  with  unflinching.;  place  and  desk  in  the  counting-house-the  master 
perseverance,  looking  to  the  goal  in  view.  Great  ,  Mr.  Ashley  had  purchased  an  estate,  called  Deof- 
praise  was  due  to  them;  and  they  won  it  from;!  fam;  and  there  he  and  hl.s  family  had  gone  to  re- 
Ihose  who  knew  what  hard  work  was.  Patiently  ;;  side.  He  retained  his  old  house  in  the  London 
and  steadily  had  they  laboured  on,  making  them- j  Road,  and  they  would  visit  it  occasionally,  and 
selves  into  sound  and  brilliant  scholars,  resisting  ;  pass  a  week  there.  The  change  of  abode  did  not 
the  temptations  that  lead  so  many  astray,  and  bear- j  appear  to  give  unqualified  gratification  to  Henry 
ing  the  slights  and  mortifications  incidental  to;  Ashley.  He  had  become  so  attached  to  Wil- 
their  subordinate  position.  'I'll  take  it  out,  when  '/  liam  that  he  could  not  bear  to  be  far  away  from 
I  am  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,'  Frank  would  ;  him.  In  the  old  home  William's  visits  had  been 
say,  in  his  cheejjng  way.  Of  course  Frank  had;daily-or  rather,  nightly;  in  this  he  did  not  see 
always  intended  to  go  up  for  honours;  and  of;  him  so  often.  Mary  Ashley  was  not  married— to 
course  Frank  gained  them.  He  went  to  Oxford  jthe  surprise  of  Helstonleigh;  but  Mary  some- 
as  a  humble  servitor,  and  he  quitted  it  a  man  of  ^  what  obstinately  refused  to  quit  the  paternal 
note.  Francis  Halliburton  had  obtained  a  dou-|  home.  William  and  his  mother  lived  on  to- 
ble-first,  and  gained  his  fellowship.  ^gether  in  the   old   house.    But  they  were  alone 

He  had  entered  himself  a  student  of  the  Mid- j  now;  for  he  could  afford  to  keep  up  its  expenses, 
die  Temple  long  before  his  college  career  was ;:  and  he  had  insisted  upon  doing  so;  insisted  that 
over.  The  expenses  of  qualifying  for  the  Bar  | she  who  had  worked  so  hard  for  them,  should 
are  high,  and  Frank's  fellowship  did  not  suffice  fori  have  rest,  now  they  could  work  for  her. 


MRS.  HALUBURTON'S  TROUBLES.  33 

Yes,  they  had  all  worked;  worked  on  for  the  ;  for  it.    Make  a  friend  of  God.    Do  that,  and  fight 

end  and  gained   it.     Looking  back,  Jane  won- {your  way  on,  doing  your  duty,  and  you  will  find 

dered  how  she  had  struggled  on.     It  seemed  now  iihe  goal— as  the  sons  of  Mrs.  Halliburton  did. 

next  to  an  impossibility  that  she  could  have  done       Jane   was   sitting   alone   one  afternoon  in  her 

it.     Verily  and  truly  she  believed  that  God  alone  ^parlour.     She  was  little  changed     None,  looking 

had  borne  her  up.     Had  it  been  a  foreshadowing  '  at  her,   could   believe  her  old   enough   to  be  the 

of  what  was  to  come,  when  her  father,  years    mother  of  those  three  great  men,  her  sons.     Not 

back,  had  warned  her  on  the  very  day  her  mar-  ^  that  Gar  was  particularly  great;  he  was  but  of 

riagc  with  Mr.  Halliburton  had   been  fixed,  that    the  middle  height.     Jane  wore   a  silk  dress  of 

it  might  bring  many  troubles  upon  her?     Perhaps   shaded  stripes,  light  and  dark  green;  and  her  hair 

so.     One  thing  was  certain:  that  it  had  brought    looked  as  smooth  and  abundant  as  in  the  old  days 

them,  and  in  no  common  degree.     Ikr.  the  trou- ;  of  her  girlhood,     [t   was  remarkable   how  littlo 

bles  were  surmounted  now;  and  Jane's  boys  were    her  past  troubles   had   told  upon  her  good  looks; 

turned  out  just  as  well  as  though  she  had  had  a    howilittle  she  was  ageing. 

thousand  a  year  to  bring  them  up  upon.  Perhaps       g^e  saw  the  postman  come  to  the  door,  and 

better.  :  Dobbs   brought   in   a   letter.     «It'.s  Mr.  Frank's 

writing,' grunted  Dobbs. 
Perhaps  better  !     How  full  of  force  is  the  sug-  : 

gestion  !  I  wonder  if  nobody  will  let  this  history ;  •'^"«  °P«"<^^  't-  «"^  '""""'^  ^^""^  ^'^^^  ^^^d  been 
of  the  young  Halliburtons  read  a  lesson  to  them  ?  .'ca^'^^-'  Half  his  care  was  over. 
Many  a  student,  used  worse  by  fortune  and  the  ;  iMt  darling  Mother— I  am  made  into  a  bar- 
world  than  he  thinks  he  deserves,  might  take  it  rister  at  last.  I  am;  and  I  beg  you  will  all  re- 
to  himself  with  profit.  Do  not  let  it  be  flung  ceive  the  announcement  with  appropriate  awe 
away  as  a  fancy  picture;  endeavor  to  make  it  and  deference.  I  was  called  to-day;  and  I  in- 
your  reality.  A  career,  worked  out  as  theirs  tend  to  have  a  photograph  taken  of  myself  in  my 
was,  insures  success  as  a  necessity.  «Ah  !'  you  :%vig  and  gown,  and  send  it  down  to  you  as  a  con- 
may  think,  'I  am  poor;  I  can't  hope  to  achieve  :  firmation  of  the  fact.  When  you  see  the  guy  the 
such  things.'  Poor!  What  were  they .'  What's  wig  makes  of  me,  you  will  say  you  never  saw  an 
that  you  say  .=  'There  are  so  many  difficulties  in  ugly  man  before.  Tell  Dobbs  so;  it  will  gladden 
the  way!'  Quite  true;  there  are  difficulties  in  her  heart;  don't  you  remember  how  »he  used  to  as- 
the  way  of  attaining  to  most  things  worth  having;  gure  us,  when  boys,  that  we  ought  to  be  put  in  a 
but  they  are  only  put  there  to  be  overcome.  Like  glass  case,  as  three  ultra  specimens  of  ugli- 
Ihe  hillocks  and  stumbling-blocks  in  thai  dream    ^ggg  ? 

that  came  to  Mr.  Halliburton  when  he  was  dying,       ,t  .»,„ii  „„.  „ .    ^  .       .u  t.  l 

,     ,  ,  ,  .      ,        .        L  'I  shall  get  on  now,  dearest  mother.     It  may  be 

they  are  placed  there  to  be  subdued,  not  to  be       i:,,i,. .,.,  k;ii  „.«,ir  „,  «„,     k.  .  .u       '  / 

•'  '  ,      ■ ,    r         •    ■  II  a  lutle  uphill  work  at  first;  but  there  s  no  fear. 

shunned  in  fear,  or  turned  aside  from  in  idleness.     .    f.  ,        ^  ,  . 

„,.  ',  ..•./•  1  A  nrst-rate   law-firm    have  promised    me  some 

Wbatever  may  be  your  object  m  life,  work  on ;      .   .  '^  ,    .    ,.  . 

,.        _  uu-.i.j  I  briefs;  and  one  of  these  speedy  days  I  shall  in- 

for  it.     Be  you  the  heir  to  a  dukedom,  or  be  your  ;      ...,.,,,  ,  , 

,         ,  ,,.,.-,  1-     .  evitably  take  the  ears  of  some  court  by  storm — 

heritajre   but  that  of  dai  y  toil,  an   object  you    ..      •  .       i   •  .    ..  i  .u     .      ■ 

''  "'  .  "^  .       the  jury  struck  into  themselves  with  the  learned 

must  have:  a  man  who  has  none  IS  the  most  mis-'    „,,„._,,.    ...,„„„j:„„    „i,.„. ,„.,„„       „^    ,u      u 

counsels    asiounamg    eloquence,    ana    the    bar 

erable  being  on  the  face  of  the  earlh.  Bear  man-  .,.,^,      „„j  ,v,«.,  .«..  r ...„_r- _  j        ?        j       . 

•^  dumb — and  then  my  fortune's  made.     I  need  not 

fully  onward  and  get  the  prize.     The  toil  may  be    ,„.,„„,.„,.,„.„,.,  ,    l   n      .  •     l 

■^  t>  r  J         igji  yoy  what  circuit  I  shall  patronize,  or  in  how 

hard,  but  it  will  grow  lighter  as  you  advance;  the  ^^^^^^  ^  ^^^.^^  afterwards  I  intend  to  be  leading 
impediments  may  be  disheartening,  but  they  are  .^.  ^^^  ,  ^j„  ^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^.^^^  .^  ,.^^^ 
not  insurmountable;  the  privations  may  be  pain-  ^^j,^„  ,  ^^  ^^  ,^  ^^^  ^^^,j^  ^^^„  ^^  ^,^^^^^^  ^^^ 
ful,  but  you  are  working  on  to  plenty;  the  temp-  comfort  of  my  dear  mother.  William  is  not  going 
tationsto  indolence,  to  flagging  to  that  many-  to  do  everything,  and  have  you  all  to  himself, 
headed  monster,  sin,  may  be  pulling  at  you;  but       .^^,^j„g  ^^^^^^  W^Uizm,  ask   him  if  he  cannot 

they  will  not  stir  you  from  your  path  an  inch,  un-  „.,„„.„„„  „v..„„«  ii»  .•        ,i    .   t  . 

■'  .  ,       ■  .-T  .     I  ,  get  up  some  chance  litigation,  that  I  may  have 

less  YOU  choose  to  let  them.     Only  be  resolute;  ,._   . ,  ■       /•      <■  .       ■ 

,  •'  .1         J         .  .  u        ,      .  tne   honour  of  appearing  for  him    next  as»izc». 

only  regard  trustingly  the  end,  and  labour  for  it;  j,„  j^  .^  ^„  ^^^^^  ,^  ^^^  ^^ 

and  it  will  surely  come.     It  may  look  in  the  dis-  .j,^^^           ^^^ 

tancc  so  far  off  that  the  very  hope  of  attaining  it  if      .  .  • 

seems  but  a  vain  chimera.     Nerer  mind;  bear 

hopefully  on,  and  the  distance  will  lessen  palpa-  Jane  started  up  from  her  chtir  at  the  newt,  aU 

biy  with  every  step.     No  real  good  was  tvcr  at-  most  like  a  glad  child.     Who  could  ^he  g«l  to 

tained  in  thii  world,  without  working  for  it.    No  share  it  with  her  ?    She  ran  into  the  next  bo\i*p 

real  good,  as  I  honestly  believe,  was  cTcr  gained,  to  F'aliencp.     Patience  limped  a  little  in  ber  walk 

unless  God's  blessing  was  with  the  cndearoun  1  still; she  would  limp  always.   A&aat  io  b«r  sober 


94 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


CHAPTER  XXVn. 


GLIMPSB    or    A   BLISSFUL   DREAM. 

A  rRETTiER-place  than  Deoffam  Hall  could  not 
well  be  conceived.  'For  its  size,'  carping  people 
would  add.    Well,  it  was  not  so  large  as  Wind- 


Quaker's  cap,  the  border  resting  on  her  fair  fore- 
head, looked  up  from  her  drawing,  and  Jane  im- 
parted to  them  the  news,  and  read  the  letter. 

'That  is  nice,'  said  Patience.    'It  must  be  a 
weight  off  thy  mind.' 

'I  don't  know  that  it  ij  that,'  replied  Jane.     *I 
have  never  doubted  his  success.     1  don't  doubt  it  |  gor  Castle;  but  it  was  no  smaller  than  the  bish. 
still.     But  I  am  very  glad.'  :  op's  palace  at  Ilelstonleigh— if  it  has  been  your 

'I  wish  I  had  a  cause  to  try,' cried  Anna,  who;  good  fortune  to  see  that  renowned  edifice, 
had  recovered  all  her  old  spirits  and  her  love  of/  Deoffam  Hall  was  a  white,  moderate-sized,  mod- 
chatter.    'I  would  let  Frank  plead  it  for  me.'       ^  ern-built  villa,  rising  in    the  midst  of  grounds 

'Will  you  come  back  with  me,  Anna,  and  take  j  charming  to  behold;  grassy  lawns  smooth  as  vcl- 
tea?' said  Jane.  'I  shall  be  alone  this  evening.;;  vet,  winding  rivulets,  groves  of  trees  affording 
William  is  gone  over  to  Deoffam  Hall.'  ,       ^shelter  on  a  summer's  day.    On  the  terrace  be- 

•ril  come,'  replied  Anna,  beginning  to  put  up  ',.  fore  the  windows  a  stately  peacock  was  fond  «f 
her  pencils  with  alacrity.  Truth  to  say,  she  was  j  spreading  his  plumes,  and  in  the  small  park— it 
just  as  fond  of  going  out  and  of  taking  off  her  cap ,  ^^^g  ^ut  a  small  one— the  deer  rubbed  their  ant- 
that  her  curls  might  fall,  as  she  used  to  be.  She  ■;  [g^s  on  th«  fine  old  trees;  the  deer  and  the  pea- 
had  fully  recovered  caste  in  the  opinion  of  Hel-jcock  being  the  especial  pets  of  Henry  Ashley. 
stonleigh.  In  fact,  when  the  reaction  set  in.  Hel-  ^  Deoflam  itself  was  an  insignificant  village;  a  few 
stonleigh  had  beea  rather  demonstrative  in  its  J:  gentlemen's  houses  and  a  good  many  cottages 
expression  of  repentance  for  having  taken  so  |  comprising  it.  It  was  pleasantly  and  conve- 
harsh  a  view  of  the  case.  Nevertheless,  it  had  ?  niently  situated;  within  a  walk  of  Helstonltigh 
been  a  real  lesson  to  Anna,  and  had  rendered  her  [  for  thogg  ^^o  likeel  walking,  or  within  a  short 
more  sober  and  cautious  in  conduct.  |  drive.    But,  desirable  as  it  was  as  a  residence, 

Dobbs  was  standing  at  the  kitchen  door  as  they  |  Henry  Ashley  was  rather  addicted  to  grumbling 
went  in.  'Dobbs,'  said  Jane,  in  the  gladness  of  j  at  it;  he  would  wish  himself  baek  in  his  old  home, 
her  heart,  'Mr.  Frank  is  called.'  .  |     Qne  lovely  morning  in  early  summer,  when 

'Called?'  responded  Dobbs,  staring  with  all  her  ;  they  were  assembled  together  discussing  plans  for 
might.  \  the  day,  he  suddenly  broke  into  one  of  his  grumb  - 

'Yes.    He  was  called  yesterday !'  j  ling  fitg.    .you  bought  Deoffam  for  me,  sir,'  h© 

•Him  called !'  repeated  Dobbs,  evidently  doubt-  (  ^^^  beginning,  'but ' 

ing  the  fact.     'Then,  ma'am,  you'll  excuse  me,  \     .j  ^^^^^^  j^  f^^.  ^y^^jf  ^^^  ^^^^  mother.'  in- 
but  Pm  not  a-going  to  believe  it.  It's  a  deal  more  \  terposed  Mr.  Ashley. 

likely  he's  gone  off  t'other  way,  than  that  he's  i     .Qf  ^^^^^^     g^^  ^^  descend  to  me  afterwards 
called  to  grace.  , — you  know  what  I  mean.     I  have  made  up  my 

Anna  nearly  choked  with  laughter.  Jane  )  ^j^^^  .^j^^^^  ^j^^^  ^j^^^^  ^j^^jj  ^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^j  ^^.^^.^ 
laughed  so  that  she  could  not  at  once  speak.  ( ^^^^  ^^  ^j^^  ^jj^j^^^j^^  ^^j,  j^  stuck  out  here,  all 
'Oh,  Dobbs,  I  don't  mean  that  sort  of  calling.  ,  j^^  njygeif  and  the  peacock,  with  you  and  the  mo- 
He  is  called  to  the  Bar.     He  has  become  a  bar-  ^  ther  gone,  I  should I  don't  like  to  outrage 

rister.'  ,  your  feelings  by  saying  what  I  might  do.' 

'Oh— that,' said  Dobbs,  ungraciously.     'Much;      'There's  Mary, 'said  Mrs.  Ashley, 
good  may  it  do  him,  ma'am  !'  ]     «Mary  !    I  expect  she'll    be  gone  into  fresh 

'He  wears  a  wig  and  gown  now,  Dobbs,' put  j  quarters  by  that  time.  She  has  only  stopped  here 
in  Anna.     'He  says  his  mother  is  to  tell  thee  that  (  go  long  out  of  politeness  to  me.' 
it  makes  an  ugly  guy  of  him,  and  so  gladden  thy  |     ^^^^  j.^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ,  ^^.j^  ^^^  ^  g,^^  ^^ 

li®*rt.'  ;  her  bright  face.    A  lovely  picture,  she,  in  her 

•Ugh!' grunted  Dobbs.  ^  i  delicate  dress  of  summer  muslin. 

.We   will   make   hini  put   tnem   on  when  he  |      .j  ^eH  evervbody  she  is  devoted  to  me.' went 

comes  down   won't  we  !    Dobbs.  i   thee'd  hke  his    ^^  .^-^.^  ^^^^^^  ^^^^.^^      ,  ^ 

nicture  in  them,  he'll  send  it  thee.'  Lu  .  u     V  ■  .     m  ah       j  .       . 

piciuic  lu  1.        .  .     ,    .  r^  , .       .r  that  handsome  girl.  Mary  Ashley,  does  not  get 

•  He'd  better  keep  it,'  retorted  Dobbs  'I  never  ^^^^.^^  ,„  cries  Helstonleigh.  Mary,  my  dear.  I 
yet  saw  no  good  in  young  chaps  having  their  pic- L^^^  ^  .^  ^  ^^  extensive  as  it 

turs  took,   Miss   Anna.     They  be  vam   enough  * 
without  that.    Called  !    That  would  have  been  a 
new  flight,  that  would,  for  hinv.' 


can  be,  so  I  don't  fear  to  increase  it.  ''My  sis- 
ter get  married?"  I  say  to  them.  "Not  she!  she 
has  resolved  to  make  a  noble  sacrifice  of  herself 

I  for  my  sake,  and  lire  at  home  with  me,  a  Tegta| 

i'  rirgin,  and  see  to  the  pudding,' 


MRS.  aALLIfiVRION'S  TllOt?BL£8 


9i 


The   smile    left   Mary's    face— the    glow  re- ;     'This  rejection  of  cTerybody.    You  have  had 

mained.     •!  do  wish  you  would  not  talk  nonsense,  ;  three  good  offers ' 

Henry!    As   if  Helstonleigh    troubled    itself  to  '      'Not  counting  the  venture  of  Cyril  Dare,'  put 

make  remarks  upon  me.    It  is  not  so  rude  as  you  !  in  Henry. 

are.'  ;      'And   you -say  "No"  to   all,' concluded   Mrs. 

'Just  hark  at  her?'  returned  Henry.    'Helston-  ■  Ashley.     'J  fear  you  must  be  over-fastidious.' 

Icigh  not  trouble  itself  to  make  remarks  !     When  ;      'And  she's  growing  info  an  old  maid,  and ' 

you  know  the  town  was  up  in  arms  when  you  re-  j  'Be  quiet,  then,  Henry.  Can't  jou  leave  me  in 
fused   Sir  Harry  Marr,  and   sent  him  packing.  J  peace." 

Such  an  honour  had  never  fallen  to  its  luck  be-  !  .^y  jcar,  it  is  true.'  cried  Henry,  who  was  in 
fore- that  one  of  its  fair  citizens,  born  and  bred,  -  „„^  ^f  ^^■^  j^^^i^^  ^^^^^  .qj.  ^^^^^^  j  ^^^^  ^^^ 
•houW  get  the  chance  of  becoming  a  real  live  My  ;  ^epi  count  of  your  age  since  you  were  eighteen 

^^'  j — it  wouldn't  be  polite  to  do  so;  but  my  private 

Mary  was  cutting  a  pencil  at  the  moment,  and  j  conviction  is,  that  you  are  four-and-twenty  this 
cut  the  point  off.     'Papa,'  cried  she,  turning  her  j  .,.,.,  -,,m„„- . 


hot   face  to  his,  'can't  you   make  Henry  talk  \ 
sense  ? — if  he  must  talk  at  all 


'If    I   were  four-and-thirty,'  answered  Mary, 
'I'd  not  marry  Sir  Harry  Marr.     I  am  not  oblicrtd 

Mrs  Ashley  interposed.  It  was  quite  true  that  |  to  marry,  I  suppose,  am  I  ?' 
Mary  had  had,  as  Henry  phrased  it,  a  chance  of  I:  «My  dear,  nobody  said  you  were,'  said  Henry, 
becoming  a 'real  live  My  Lady;' and  there  lurked  j  flinging  arose  at  her,  which  he  took  from  his 
in  Mrs.  Ashley's  heart  a  shade  of  grievance,  ol  \  button-hole.  'But  don't  you  see  that  this  brings 
disappointment,  that  she  should  have  refused  the  ;;  ,ound  my  argument,  that  you  have  resolved  to 
honour.  She  spokerathersharply,  taking  Henry's  ;  make  yourself  a  noble  sisterly  sacrifice,  and  stop 
part,  not  Mary's.  ^  at  home  with  me. >    Don't  you  take  to  cats  yet, 

'Henry  is  talking  nothing  but  sense.     My  opin-  \  though  ?' 
ion   is,   that   you   behaved   quite   rudely   to   Sir  j      Mary  thought  she  was  getting  the  worst  of  it, 
Harry.  It  is  an  offer  that  you  will  not  have  again,  ;  ^^^   q^j„^j    ^^^^  ^^^^      Soon  afterwards  Mrs. 
Mary.     Still,'  added  Mrs.  Ashley,  modifying  her  ^  ^ghley  was  called  out  by  a  servant. 

tone  a  little, 'it  is  no  business  of  Helstonieigh's;  ^      ,r^.j  •         ^    r        « -n.       .i.- 

.,.       ,     ,  ,  ,,     ,  ij  .  J  'Did  you  get  a  note  from  vVilIiam  this  morning, 

neither  do  I  see  whence  the  town  could  have  de-  <    .   .,      ,     .  r t 

,    ,  ( sir.'' asked  Henry.  ^ 

rived  its  knowledge.'  '  ™* 


'As  if  there  could  bo  any  news  stirring,  good  i 
or  bad,  that  Helstonleigh  does  not  ferret  its  way  | 
to!'  returned  Henry. 

'My   belief  is,  that  Henry  took  and  told,'  re. 
torted  Mary. 


'Yes,'  replied  Mr.  Ashley,  taking  it  from  his 

pocket.     'He  mentions  in  it  that  there  is  a  report 

current    in    the    town    that     Herbert    Dare    is 

dead.' 

•Herbert  Dare  !     I  wonder  if  it's  true  •' 

'It  is  to  hoped  not.     I  fear  he  was  not  very  fit 


'1!  what  next.''  cried    Henry.     'As  if  I  should      „  ,.        ,„ ^;„„  :„.„   Uoi=«„ni«:»K    .r^  .h.ii 

■'  (10  die.     1  am  going  into  rlelstonleign,  and  shall 

tell  of  the  graceless  doings  of  my  sister!     It  is  u  ui    u  > 

''  °  .  ,       ,         ,    ,        probably  hear  more, 

bad  enough  to  lie  under  the  weighty  knowledge '      .r\i,  i  •     .    j  •    >     r»        .  v 

^  »    J  o         'Oh  I  are  you  going  m  to-day,  sir.'     Def^patch 

°°'^*®'^-'  William  back,  will  you  ?' 

'And  as  if  I  should  ever  consent  to  marry  Sir  \      ,^  ^^^.^  ^„^^^  ^^ 

Harry  Marr!'  returned  Mary,  with  a  touch  of ,  ^^^^  ^^^^f^^^^^^ 

her  brother's  spirit. 


'.Mary,'  said  .Mr.  Ashley,  quietly,  'you  seemed 
to  slip  out  of  that  business,  and  of  all  question- 
ing over  it,  as  smoothly  as  an  eel.  I  never  came 
to  the  bottom  of  it.  What  was  your  objection  to 
Sir  Harry." 

I    'Objection,  papa.''  she  faltered,  with  a  crim- 
poned  face.     «I — I  did  not  care  for  him.' 

'Oh,  that  was  it,  was  it-'  returned  Mr.  A»h- 
ley. 

'Is  it  always  to  go  on  so,  my  dear?'  asked  her 
mother. 

Poor  Mary  was  in  sad  confus^ion,  scarcely 
mowing  whether  to  burst  into  anger  or  into 
:eart.    'What  do  you  mean,  mammn  .'    rcr  "go 


They  may  be  busy  at 
If  so,  I  am  sure  he  will  not 
leave  it.' 

'What  a  blessing  if  that  manu factory  were  up 
in  the  clouds!'  was  Henry's  rejoinder.  'When  I 
want  William  particularly,  it  is  sure  to  be— tlial 
manufactory!' 

'It  is  well  William  does  not  think  as  you  do,' 
remarked  Mr.  Ashley. 

'Well,  sir,  he  must  certainly  think  Samuel 
Ljnn  a  nonentity,  or  he  would  not  slick  himself 
fo  closely  to  business.  You  never  applied  your- 
self in  such  a  way.' 

'Yen,  1  did.  But  you  mu<>t  please  to  rrmem- 
lycr,  Master  Henry,  that  the  case*  are  not  on  a 
parallel.  I  was  head  and  chief  of  all,  accounta- 
ble to  ooRC.  Had  I  choien  to  take  a  twrlve- 
Q)ODlI)'«  holiday,  tod'Ut  the  business  (o,  it  would 


^6 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


have  been  tny  own  affair  exclusively.  Whether!  'He  has  got  on  as  he  deserved.  He  will  be  a 
the  business  went  right,  or  whether  it  went !  worthy  successor  to  you,  sir:  a  second  Thomas 
wrong,  [  was  accountable  to  none.  William  is  (Ashley;  a  far  better  one  than  I  should  ever  have 
not  in  that  position.'  [  been,  had  1  possessed  the  rudest  health.     There's 

'I  know  he  is  often  in  tlie  position  not  to  be  had  j  only  one  thing  more  for  William  to  gain,  and  then 
when  he  is  wanted,'  was  Henry's  reply,  as  he  / 1  expect  he  will  be  at  rest.' 
listlessly  turned  over  stoic  books  that  Jay  on  the       'What's  that?' 
table.  *0h,  it's  no  concern  of  mine,  sir.  If  folks  can't 

'Will  you  go  into  town  with  me.''  ;  manage  for  themselves,  they  need  not  come  to 


'1  could  not  stand  it  to-day.     My  hip  is  giving 
me  twinges.' 

'Is  it?     I  had  better  bring  back  Parry.' 


lie  to  help  them.' 

Mr.  Ashley  looked  keenly  at  his  son. 
passed  to  another  topic. 


Henry 


'No  I  won't  have  him,  unless  1  find  there's;  'Do  send  him  here,  sir,  when  you  get  in;  or 
actual  need.    The  mother  knows  what  to  do  with  ^else  drive  him  back  with  you.'  , 

me.     I  dont  suppose  it  will  come  to  anything;  J     'I  shall  see,' said  Mr.  Ashley.     'Do  you  know 
and  I  have  been  so  much  better  of  late.'  ;  where  your  mother  went  to?' 

'Yes,  you  have.  Although  you  quarrel  with!  'After  some  domestic  catastrophe,  I  expect. 
Deiffam,  it  is  the  change  to  it — the  air  of  the ;:  Martha  came,  with  a  face  as  green  as  the  pea- 
place — that  has  renewed  your  health,  you  un-' cock's  tail,  and  beckoned  her  out.  The  best  din- 
grateful  boy  !'  /  iier-service  come  to  grief,  perhaps.' 

Mr.  Ashley's  eyes  were  beat  lovingly  on  j  Mr.  Ashley  rang,  and  ordered  the  pony  car- 
Henry's  as  he  said  it.  Henry  seized  his  father'.-- ^  iiage  to  be  got  ready:  one  bought  chiefly  for 
hands,  his  half-mocking  tone  exchanged  for  ont  '•  Henry,  that  he  might  drive  into  town.  Before  he 
of  earnestness.  j  started,  he  came  across  Mary.     She  stood  at  one 

'Not  ungrateful,  sir — far  from  it.     I  know  the /of  the  corridor  windows  up  stairs,  and  had  evi- 
value  of  my  dear  father:  that  a  kinder  or  a  bet-  ^,  dently  been  crying. 
ter  one  son  could  not  possess      I  shall  grumbk- J     'What  is  your  grief,  Mary  r' 
on  to  c^y  life's  end.     It  is  my  amusement.     Bi!t|;     She  turned  to  ttie  sheltering  arm  open  to  her, 
the  giumbluig  is  from  my  lips  only:  notlf-om  m}  /and  tried  to  choke  the  tears  down,  which  were 
fractious  spirit,  as  it  was  in  days  gone  by.'  ^  agaiu  rising.     '1  wish  you  and  mamma  v^oujd  not 

'I  have  remarked  that;  remarked  it  with  detpi  ieep  so  angry  at  my  refusing  Sir  Hairy  Marr.' 


thankfulness.     You  have  acquired  a  victory  ovei 
that  fractious  spirit.' 

'For  which  the  chief  thanks  are  due  to  Wi 
liam  Halliburton.  Sir,  it  is  so.  But  for  him,  i 
is  most  probable  I  should  have  gone,  a  discui 
tented  wretch,  to  the — let  me  be  poetical  for  onc« 
— silent  tomb:  never  seeking  out  either  the  ligl. 
or  the  love  that  may  be  found  in  this  world.' 

Mr.  Asnley  glanced  at  his  son.  He  saw  tha 
he  was  contending  with  emotion,  although  he  hai 
reassumed  his  bantering  tone. 

'Henry,  what  light — what  lover' 

'The  light  and  the  love,  that  a  man  may  tali. 
into  his  own  spirit.  He — William — told  mi 
years  ago,  that  1  might  make  even  my  life  i. 
pleasant  and  a  useful  one;  and  measureless  wa 


'Who  told  you  1  was  angry,  Mar_y  ':' 

'Oh,  papa,  1  fancied  so  mirs  moining.    Mamma 

s  angry  about  it,  and  it  pains  me.  it  is  as  though 

;0U  wanted  me  gone.' 
'My  dear  child!     Gone!     For  our  comfort  I 

rjould  wish  you  might  never  go,  Mary.     But  for 

.our  own,  it  may  be  different.' 

'1  do  not  wish  to  go,'  she  sobbed.  '1  want  to 
uay  at  home  alwajs.  It  was  not  my  fault,  papa, 
I   1  could  not  like  Sir  Harry.' 

'You  should  never,  by  my  consent,  marry  any 
lie  you  did  not  like,  Mary;  not  if  it  were  the 
teaieet  match  in  the  three  kingdoms.  Why  this 
.istress,  my  dear?  Mamma's  vexation  will  blow 
ver.     She   thought — as  Henry  tells  us — to  see 


jou  converted  into  a  "real  live  My  Lady."  "My 
ttc  ridicule  least  upon  him  for  it.  But  I  have  ^  laughter,  Lady  Marr!"  It  will  blow  over, 
found  that  he  was  right.     When  William  cam.  ;  child.' 

to  the  house  one  night,  a  humble  errand-boy,  senl  \  Mary  cried  in  silence.  'And  you  will  not  let 
by  Samuel  Lynii  with  a  note — do  you  reraembei  !■  me  be  driven  away,  papa?  You  will  keep  me  at 
it,  sir.' — and  offered  to  help  me,  dunce  that  1  was,    tiome,  always?' 

with  my  Latin  exercise— a  helR  I  graciously  con-  ■  ..vjr.  Ashley  shook  his  head.  'Always  is  a  long 
descended  to  accept— wc  little  thought  what  a  ,  jay,  Mary.  Somebody  may  be  coming,  less  dis- 
blci-sing  had  entered  the  dwelling.'  tasteful  ilian   Sir  Harry  Marr,  who  will  induce 

'We  little  thought  what  a  brave,  honest,  indom-  ^  you  to  lea^e  it.' 
itable  spirit  was  enshrined  in  the  humbh;  trrand- (      'No,  never,  papa!'  cried  she,  somewhat  more 
boy,' continued  Mr.  Ashley.  j  vehemently  tha^i  the  case  seemed  to  warrant. 


itim.  MALLiBVUTOxNM  TIlOOBLlkK. 


91 


'Should  anybody  be  asking  you  for  me,  you  can  jinghabits  !   Old  Dare,  too,  unl«u  I  tm  uilUktH, 

tell  them  "No,"  at  once;  do  not  trouble  to  bring  ;  is  on  his  last  legs.' 

the  news  to  me.'  >      'Js  he  ill .'' inquired  Mr.  Ashley. 

•»5ivi/body,  Mary  ."  |      *No;  no  worse  than  usual;  but  I  nerer  saw  a 

•Yes,  papa,  no  matter  who.    Do  not  drive  me  i  man  so  broken.     I   alluded  to   the    legs  of  his 

away  from  you.*  j  prosperity.     Talk  about   reports,    though,'  and 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her.     She  stood  at  the  >  Captain  Chambers   suddenly  wheeled   round  on 


window  still,  in  a  dreamy  attitude,  and  watched 
the  carriage  drive  off  with  Mr.  Ashley  Presently 
Henry  passed. 

'Has  the  master  gone, do  you  know,  Mary?' 

•Five  minutes  ago.' 

'I  hope  and  trust  he'll  send  back  William.' 

It  was  striking  half-past  two  when  Mr.  Ashley 
entered  the  manufactory.  Samuel  Lynn  was  in 
his  own  room,  sorting  gloves;  \Villiam  was  in 
the  counting-house,  seated  at  his  desk.  His,  now 


William,  'there's  one  going  the  round  of  th«  town 
to-day  about  you.' 

•What's  that  ?'  asked  William.    'Not  that  I  am 
1  dead ,  I  suppose,  or  on  my  last  legs  ?' 

•Something  better.     That    you  art  goin|  to 
marry  Sophy  Glenn.' 

William   looked    all   amazement,   an  unutad 
smile  stealing  over  his  lips. 
•Well,  I  never?'  uttered  he,  ustog  a  phrase  just 


formerly  Mr.  Ashley's;  the  very  desk  from  wh.chM^*".'"  ^"^^^   '"  Helstonleigh.     'What  has  put 

,  (  that  in  ihg^  irxarn'a  \\om\  >' 

the  cheque  had  disappeared;  but  William  took  a 
more  active  part  in  the  general  management  than 


Mr.  Ashley  had  ever  done.  He  rose,  shook 
bands  wiih  the  master,  and  placed  a  chair  for 
him.  The  'master'  still  he  was  called;  indeed,  he 
actually  was  so;  William,  'Mr.  Halliburton.' 


that  in  the  town's  head  .'' 

•You  should  best  know  that,'  said  Captain 
Chambers.  'Did  jou  not,  for  one  thing,  beau 
Vliss  Sophy  to  a  concert  last  ni^ht  ?  Come,  Mas- 
ter William,  guilty  or  not  guilty  .>' 

•Guilty  of  the  beauing,'  answered  William.   •! 


A  short  while  given   to  business  details,  and    ^^^'^^  «»   the   Glenns    yesterday    evening,  and 
then  Mr.  Ashley  referred   to  the  report  of  Her-    ^^^^^  ^^^^  starting  for  the  concert;  so  I  accom- 
bert  Dare's  death.  Poor  Herbert  Dare  had  never    panied  them.     I  did  give  my  arm  to  Sophy.' 
returned  from  abroad,  and  it  was  to  be  feared  he  |      'And  whispered  the  sweet  werds,  ••Will  you  be 
had  been  getting  lower  and  lower  in  the  scale  of  J  my  charming  wife  ?' 

society.     Under  happier  auspices,  and  with  dif-j      «No,  that  1  did  not,' said  William.  ^Afidldare- 
ferent  rearing,  Herbert  might  have  made  a  hap-  j  say  1  shall   never  whisper  them  to*V^  Woman 
pier  and   a   better   man.     Helstonleigh  did  not  j  born  yet;  if  it  will  give  Helstonleigh  satisfaction 
know  how  he  lived   abroad,    or  why  he  stayed  (  to  know  so  much.' 
there.     Possibly  the  free  and  easy  continental  life  j      .you  might  go  farther  and  fare  worse,  than  in 


had  become  necessary  to  him.  Homburg,  Baden- 
Baden,  Wiesbaden,  wherever  there  were  gaming- 
tables, there  might  be  found  Herbert  Dare.  Thai 
he  must  find  a  living  at  them  in  some  way,  seemed 
pretty  evident.     It  was  a  great  pity. 

'How  did  you  hear  that  he  was  dead?'  inquired 
Mr.  Ashley. 

•From  Richard  Winthorne,'  replied  William. 
•I  met  him  yesterday  evening  in  Guild  Street, 
and  he  told  me  a  report  had  come  over  that  Her- 
bert Dare  had  died  of  fever.' 


taking  Sophy  Glenn,  I  can  tell  you  that.  Master 
William,'  returned  Captain  Chambers.  •Re- 
member, she  is  the  lucky  one  of  the  three  sisters, 
and  had  the  benignant  godmother.  Sophy  Gleon 
counts  five  thousand  pounds  to  her  fortune.' 

When  Captain  Chambers  took  bis  departure, 
Mr.  Ashley  looked  at  William. 

'I  have  heard  Henry  joke  you  about  the  Glenn 
siirls— nic6  little  girls  they  are,  too.  Is  there  any 
ihing  in  it,  William  ?' 

'Sir!    How  can  you  ask  such  a  thing?* 

'I  think,  with  Chambers,  that  a  man  might  do 


As  William  spoke,  a  gentleman  entered  the 
room,  and   interrupted  them— a  Captain  Cham-  \  «'orse  than  marry  Sophy  Glenn.' 
bgfg,  !      'So  do  I,  sir.     Rut  I  shall  not  be  the  man.' 

•Have  you  heard  that  Herbert  Dare's  dead?  I      '  ^^^'l' ''^ink  it  is  time  you  contemplated. one- 
was  h,s  first  Rreetirg.  1  ^^^'^  °[  '^"^  •*"•*•    Y""  '^'"  •°°''  ''•  ^'^J  J"" 

•Is  it  certain  ?'  asked  Mr.  Ashley. 


of  age.' 
'  Yei,  sir,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  marry.' 
•Why  not?' asked  Mr.  Ash.'ey. 
'Because — I  fear  my  wikhes  would  lead  me  to 
Hoar  too    hi|ih.      ThMt    is,    I — I— mean — '      He 
>.i<ipped;  he  seemed  to  be  gelling  into  iDextriea- 
)le  confusion.     A  n<'table  Ihiag  for  tkt  aclf-pM. 
disereditablo  way.    A  wretched  scamp !    Sheck-  \  seMod  WUhaa  UailiburtM. 


*I  don't  know.     Report  says  it  is  certain;  bu 
report  i-*  notalwajs  to  be  believed.  How  that  fam 
ily  ha.'*  gone  down,'  continued  Captain  Chambers 
•Anthony  first;  now  Herbert;  and  Cjril  will  be 
the  next.     He  will  go  out  of  the  world  in  ioni< 


II 


98 


MRS.  HALLIBURTOX'S  TROUBLES. 


•Do  you  Koean  that  you  hare  an  attachment  in  ^     'Never.' 
some  quarter?'  resumed  Mr.  Ashley.  '     'Or  led  her  to  believe  you  loved  her?' 

Williaoi's  face  turned  of  a  fiery  red.  \     'No,  &ir— unle&s  my  looks  and  tones  may  have 

*I  cannot  deny  it,  sir,'  he  answered,  after  con- ^  betrayed  me.    I   fear  they  have— but  it  was  not 
siderable  hesiiaiion.  untentionally  done. ' 

'And  that  she  is  above  your  reach?'  ?      'Honest  in  this,  as  in  all   else,'  thought  Mr. 

•Yes.'  <  Ashley.    'What  am  1  to  say  to  you?'  he  asked 

'In  what  manner?    In  position — or  by  any  in-j  aloud, 
iurmountable   obstacle?    I    suppose   she   is  not  s     '1  do  not  know,' sighed  William.     'I  expect,  of 
iomebody  else's  wife  ':'  /course,  sir,  that  you  will  forbid  me  Deoffam  Hall; 

William  smiled.  '.but  I  can  still  meet  Henry  at  the  house  in  town. 

'Oh,  no — in  position.'  / 1  hope  you  will  forgive  me,'  he  added,  in  an  im- 

■     'Shall  I  give  you  my  opinion,  William,  without  ^passioned  tone.     'I  could  not  help  loving  her — 
knowing  the  case  in  detail  ?'  ."before  I  knew  what  my  new  feelings  meant,  love 

William  was"  standing  at  one  corner  of  the '^ had  come.     Such  love!     Had  I  been  in  a  posi 
mantel-piece,  his  arm  leaning  on  its  narrow  shelf,  ^ion  to  marry  her,  I  would  have  made  her  life  on) 
He  did  not  lift  his  eyes. 
'Yes,  sir,  if  you  please.' 

'Then  I  think  ihr.re  is  scarcely  any  marriagea-'j     '^^^^  ^woke  you  ?'  was  the  interruption, 
ble  girl  in  the  county  to  whom  you  might  not  as-  \     '^  ^^ink  it  was  Cyril  Dare's  asking  for  her 
pire,  and  in  time  win.' 


^  dream    of    happiness. 
!all- 


one 
When    I    awoke    to   it 


•Oh,  Mr.  Ashley.' 

•Is  it  the  daughter  of  the  lord-lieutenant." 

William  laughed. 

'Is  it  the  bishop's  daughter:' 

William  shook  his  head. 

•She  seems  to  be  as  far  removed  from  me.' 

'Comfi,  I  must  know,  who  is  it?' 

'It  is  impossible  that  I  can  tell  you,  sir.' 


idebated  with  mjself  then,  whether  I  ought  to 
^give  up  going  to  your  house,  but  I  came  to  the 
'icoriclusson  that,  so  long  as  I  was  able  to  hide  my 
J  feelings  from  her,  I  need  not  banish  myself.  My 
h'udgmentwas  wrong,  1  know;  but  the  temptation 
<  to  see  her  occasionally  was  great,  and  I  did  not 


'resist  It. 

t     'And    so  you    continued  to    go,   feeding  the 


',  flame  ." 

'I  must  te»t)w;  1  don't  think  I  have  ever  asked  j     «Ye8.     Feeding  it  passionately  and  hopelessly; 
you  in  v^^since  the  time  when,  a  boy,  you  cor.- ^  never  forgetting   that  the  shock  of  separation 
fessed  jSBphoughts  about  the  found  shilling.  Se-<  must  come.' 
crets  from  me  r  I  will  know,  William  !'  J     .dj^  you  hear  of  Sir  Harry  Marr's  offer  to 

William  did  not  answer.     The  upper  part  of^  her?' 

his  face  was   concealed   by  his  hand;  but  Mr.  ^     ,ygg   J  heard  of  it  ' 

Ashley  marked  the  sweet  smile  that  played  around  <     ^t-h-  .  i^.    i      r.  i  •    /■  ». 

, .       ■'    ,  •'  ',     William  swept  his  hand  across  his  face  as  he 

his  mouth.  ?       I        i»  •         n/t     A  ui 

>*poke.    It  wore  a  n-nrng  expression.    Mr.  Ashley 

'Come,  I  will  help  you.  Is  it  the  charming-man- ;  changed  his  tone. 

nered  Dobbs ?'  J,     .-.ir  ,,•        ',  *  j     -j    ^v         **  _ 

(     'William,  I  cannot  decide  this  matter,  one  way 

\  or  the  other.     You  must  aik  Mary  to  do  that.' 


Amused,  he  look  his  hand  from  his  face. 
'Well,  sir — no.' 


'Sir!' 


'It  cannot   be   Charlotte   East,  because  she  is  < 
married.'  |     'If  Mary  chooses  to  favour  you  more  than  she 

William  seemed  as  impervious  as  ever.  The  j  does  other  suitors,  I  will  not  forbid  her  doing  it. 
master  suddenly  laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  Only  this  very  day  she  begged  me,  with  tears,  to 
and  confronted  him  face  to  face.  j  keep  all  such  troublesome  customers  away  from 

'Is  it  Mary  Ashley?'  jher;  to  refuse  them  of  my  own  accord.     But  it 

The  burning  flush  of  scarlet  that  dyed  his  face, !  strikes  me  that  you  may  as  well  get  an  answer 
even  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair,  told  Mr.  Ash- 1  from  herself.' 

ley  the  truth,  far  more  effectually  than  words  William,  his  whole  soul  in  his  eyes,  was  gazing 
eould  have  done.  There  ensued  a  pause.  Mr.  at  Mr.  Ashley,  He  could  not  tell  whether  he 
Ashley  was  the  first  to  break  it.  |  might  believe;  whethei  he  were  awake  or  dream- 

•How  long  have  you  loved  her?'  I  ing. 

'For  years — that  has   been   the  wild  dream  of  |      'Did  I  deliver  you  a  message  from  Henry?' 


my  aspirations:  one  that  I  knew  would  never  be  I 

realized,'  he  answered,  suffering  his  eyes  to  meet  i 

for  a  moment  Mr.  Ashley's.  j 

•Have  you  spoken  to  her  of  it?*  \ 


'No,  sir,'  was  the  abstracted  response. 

'He  wants  you  to  go  ovtr  to  him.  I  said  I 
would  send  you  if  you  wfre  not  busy.  He  it  not 
very  well  to-day.' 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLfiS. 


9f 


•But — Mr.  Ashloy — did  you  mean  what  you 
said  ?' 

'Should  I  have  said  it  had  I  not  meant  it?'  was 
the  quiet  answer.  'Have  you  a  difficulty  in  be- 
lieving it?' 

The  ingenuous  light  rose  to  William's  eyes, 
as  he  raised  them  to  his  master's. 

•I  have  no  money,'  he  whispered.  'I  cannot 
settle  a  farthing  upon  her.' 

'You  have  something  better  than  money,  Wil- 
liam—worth. And  I  can  settle.  Go  and  hear 
what  Mary  says.  You  will  catch  the  half-past 
three  o'clock  coach,  if  you  make  haste.' 

William  went  out,  believing  still  that  he  must 
be  in  a  trance.  His  deeply  buried  dream  of  the 
long  past  years;  was  it  about,  indeed,  to  become 
reality  ? 

But  in  the  midst  of  it,  he  eould  not  help  casting 
a  thought  to  a  less  pleasing  subject — the  Dares. 
Herbert  was  young  to  die;  he  was,  no  doubt,  un- 
prepared to  die;  and  William  sincerely  hoped 
that  the  report  would  prove  untrue.  The  Dares 
were  going  down  sadly  in  the  social  scale;  Cyril 
especially.  He  was  just  what  Captain  Cham- 
bers had  called  him — a  scamp.  After  leaving 
Mr.  Ashley's,  he  had  entered  iiis  falhcr's  office; 
as  a  temporary  thing,  it  was  said;  but  he  had 
never  quitted  it  for  anything  else.  A  great  deal 
of  his  time  was  passed  in  public-houses.  George, 
Svhose  commission  never  came,  had  gone  out, 
some  two  or  three  years  ago,  to  the  port  of  Syd- 
ney. His  sister  .Tulia  and  her  husband  had  set- 
tled there,  and  they  had  found  an  opening  for 
George.  William  walked  on,  thinking  of  the 
Dares'  position  and  of  his. 


CHAPTER  XXVHL 

WATS  AND  MEANS. 

Whin  William  reached  DeofTam  Hall,  he  found 
Henry  Ashley  alone,  lying  in  the  drawing-room, 
the  sofa  near  the  open  window. 

'That's  good  !'  cried  he.  'Good  of  the  master 
for  scndmg  you,  and  of  you  for  coming  ' 

'You  don't  look  well  to-day,'  observed  Wil- 
liam. 'Your  brow  has  the  old  lines  of  pain  in  it.' 

'Thanks  to  my  hip,  which  is  giving  me  threat- 
ening twinges.  What's  this  report  about  Dare  ? 
Is  it  confirmed  ." 

'Not  absolutely.  It  was  Winthome  told  me 
Captain  Chambers  came  into  the  manufactory, 
and  spoke  of  it  this  afternoon.' 

'I  dare  say  it's  true,'  said  Henry.  •!  wonder 
if  Anna  Lynn  will  put  on  weeds  for  bin  ?'  he  sar- 
castically added. 


'Quakers  don't  wear  weeds.' 

'Teach  your  grandmother,'  returned  Henry, 
lapsing  into  one  of  those  free,  popular  phrases  h« 
indulged  in,  and  icas  indulged  in.  'How  you  star© 
at  me  !  Do  you  think  I  am  not  cured  ?  Ay;  yean 
ago.' 

'You'd  have  no  objection  to  see  Anna  marry,  1 
suppose." 

'She's  welcome  to  marry,  for  me.  You  may 
go  and  propose  to  her  yourself,  if  you  like.  I'll 
be  groomsman  at  the  wedding.' 

'Would  the  alliance  give  you  pleasure?' 

Henry  laughed.  'You'd  deserve  hanging  in 
chains,  if  you  did  enter  upon  it;  that's  all.' 

'I  have  had  one  wife  assigned  tome  to-day,'  re- 
marked William. 

'Whom  may  she  be?' 

'Sophy  Glenn.' 

'Sophy  Glenn?' 

'Sophy  Glenn.  Chambers  gravely  assured  no 
that  Helstonleigh  had  settled  the  match.  He, 
Chambers,  considers  that  I  may  go  farther  and 
fare  worse.     Mr.  Ashley  said  the  same.' 

•But  what  do  ynu  say  .''  cried  Henry,  rising  up 
on  his  sofa,  and  speaking  quite  sharply. 

'I?     Oh,  I  shall  consider  of  it.' 

At  that  moment  Mary  Ashley  appeared  on  the 
terrace  outride;  a  small  basket  and  a  pair  of  scis-. 
sons  in  her  hand.     Henry  called  to  her.  'Are  you 
going  to  cut  more  flowers?'  '•■ 

•Yes.  Mamma  has  sent  the  others  away.  She 
said  ihey  were  fading.'  Seeing  William  there, 
she  nodded  to  him,  her  colour  rising.' 

•I  say,  Mary — he  has  come  here  to  bring  some 
news,'  went  on  Henry.  What  do  you  suppose  it 
is." 

'Mamma  has  told  me.     About  Herbert  Dare.' 

'Not  that.  H^  is  going  to  make  himself  into  a 
respectable  man,  and  marry  Sophy  Glenn.  He 
came  here  to  announce  it.  Don't  cut  too  muoh 
of  that  syringa;  its  sweetness  is  overpowering  ia 
a  room.' 

Mary  walked  away.  William  felt  excessively 
annoyed.  'You  are  more  dangerous  than  a'child!' 
he  exclaimed.     'What  made  ytiu  say  that?' 

And  Henry,  like  a  true  child,  fell  back,  laugh- 
ing aloud.  'I  say,  though,  comrade,  where  are 
jouoffio?'  he  called  after  William,  who  wai 
Icavitig  the  room. 

'To  cut  the  flowers  for  your  sister,  of  course.' 

But  when  William  reached  Mary  Ashley,  she 
had  apparently Torgotlen  her  errand.  Standing 
in  a  dark  spot  against  the  trunk  of  the  acacia 
tree,  her  face  was  wh(,tc  and  still,  and  the  basket 
lay  on  the  ground.  She  picked  it  up,  and  would 
have  hastened  away,  but  William  caught  her 
hand  and  placed  it  within  his  arm,  little  leu  agi- 
tated than  ithe  was. 


100 


MRS.  HALLIBUR'V>N'S  TKOUBLlfiSt 


'Not  to  toll  him  that  news,'  he  whispered.  *I  (  self  silent  and  neutral.  As  he  sat  there  raminat- 
did  inc/Otd  come  here,  hoping  to  solicit  one  to  be  I  ing,  he  heard  the  distant  sound  of  the  pony  car- 
my  wife;  but  it  was  not  Sophy  Glenn.  Mary,  ridge;  and,  taking  a  short  cut.  met  it  in  the  park, 
you  eanuot  miital^e  what  my  feelings  have  long  Mr.  Ashley  handed  the  reins  to  his  groom,  got 
^g^g  r  I  out,  and  gave  his  arm  to  Henry. 

•But— papa?'  she  gasped,  unable  to  control  her       'How  are  you  by  this  time?' 
emotion.  'Better,  sir.     Nothing  much  to  brag  of. ' 

He  looked  at  her;  he  made  her  look  at  him.  '1  thought  William  would  have  been  with  you. 
What  strange,  happy  light  was  that  in  his  earnest  I  Is  he  not  come?' 

eyes,  causing  her  heart  to  bound  ?    'Mr.  Ashley  \     'Yes,  he  is  come.    But  I  am  second  with  him 
sent  me  to  you,' he  softly  whispered.  |  to-day.     Miss  Mary's  first.' 

Henry  lay  and  waited  till  he  was  tired.     No  |     'Oh,  indeed  !'  returned  Mr.  Ashley. 
William,  no  Mary;  no  flowers;  no  anything.  Had  i      'They  are  gone  off"  somewhere,  under  the  pre- 
they  both  gone  to  sleep  ?    He  arose;  and,*taking  j  te^^  of  cutting  flowers.    I  don't  think  the  flowers 
his  stick,  limped  away  to  see  after  them.    But  he  |  were  quite  the  object,  though.' 
searched  the  flower  garden  in  vain.  He  stole  a  glance  at  his  father  as  he  spoke. 

In  the  sheltered  shrubbery,  pacing  it  leisurely,    But  he  gathered  nothing.    And  he  dashed  at  once 
as  closo  together  as  they  could  well  be  linked,  I  into  the  subject  he  had  at  heart, 
were  they;  a  great  deal  too  much  occupied  with  \     'Father,  you  will  not  stand  in  theit  light!    It 
each  other  to  pay  attention  to  anything  else.  The  j  wHl  be  a  crushing  blow  to  both,  if  you  do.     Let 
basket  lay  on  the  ground,  empty  of  all,  save  the 


scissors. 

'Well,  you  two  are  a  nice  lot  for  a  summer's 
day!'  began  Henry,  after  his  own  fashion,  and 
using  his  own  astonished  eyes.  'What  of  the 
flowers?* 


him  have  her!    There's  not  a  man  in  the  world 
half  as  worthy.' 

But  still  Mr.  Ashley  made  no  rejoinder.  Henry 
scarcely  gave  him  time  to  make  one. 

♦I  have  seen  it  a  long  while.    I  have  seen  how 
Halliburton   kept  down   his  feelings,  not  being 
Mary  would  have  flown,  but  William  held  her  ;  sure  of  the  ground  with  you.    I  fear  that  to-day 
lightly,  and  led  her  up  to  her  brother.     He  strove  |  they  must  have  overmastered  him;  for  he  has  cer- 
to  speak  jestingly;  but  his  voice  betrayed   his  j  Mainly  spoken  out.    Dear  father,  don't  m:ike  two 
..  >  of  the  best  spirits  in  the  world  miserable,  by™ 

.TT  V  11    -4   1,  .,_    .•„4,v      ««    c!„„u„  (  withholding  your  consent!' 

•Henry,   shall   it  be    your    sister,  or    Sophy!  ,      • .  «t     a  ui       .  -     v        •*! 

"^  o  \     'Henry,' said  Mr.  Ashley,  turning  to  him  with 

„   ,         ,         ,  .,,.       .,  ,.  ,        ( a  smile,  'do  you  fancy  William  Halliburton  is 

•So!  you  have  been  settling  it  lor  yourselves,  »         ■'  "1     ...      .  .,, 

•^  ,    .         , ,       4  u     •  V,         Tvi-  .  i  one  to  have  spoken  out  without  my  consent? 

have  you!    I  would  not  be  in  your  shoes.  Miss  ,   .u-      u     i  a    u  j      .r.-j  •       •» 

.  ,  ,  ,       ^,  *  I  iu     J    u  It     V,  II  J..        Henry  s  thin  cheek  flushed.    •Did  you  give  it 

Ashley,  when  the  parental  thunderbolts  shall  de-  -^  ,       ,      .        ....,, 

Z    _,     ^,  .      ,    ^         a        ...  »  him?    Have  you  already  given  it  him  ?' 

scend.     Was  thu  what  you  flung  the  baronet  over  ■'  •'  " 

for?    There  never  was  any  accounting  for  taste  i     'I  gave  it  him  to-day.    I  drew  from  him  the 

in  this  world,  and  there  never  will  be.    I  ask  j  fact  of  his  attachment  to  Mary;  not  telling  him 

you  where  the  flowers  are,  and  I  should  like  an  I '"  so  many  words  that  he  should  have  her,  but 

„„,  ,  '  i  leaving  it  for  her  to  decide. 

answer.  j  " 

•I  will  cut  them  now,'  said  William.  •Will  !  •Then  it  will  be;  for  I  have  seen  where  Miss 
you  come?'  he  asked,  holding  out  his  arm  to  j  Mary's  love  has  been.  How  immeasurably  you 
Henry.  have  rt lie ved  me!'  continued  Henry.    'The  last 

•No,' replied  Henry,  sitting  down  on  the  shrub-    half  hour  I  have  been  seeing  nothing  but  perplex- 
bery  bench,  'I  must  digest  this  shock  first.    You  <  ity  and  cross-grained  guardians.' 
two  will  be  enough  to  cut  them,  I  dare  say.'  'Have  you  ?'  returned  Mr.  Ashley.  'Tou  should 

They  walked  away  towards  the  flower-garden.  \  have  brought  a  little  common  sense  to  bear  apon 
But  ere  they  had  gone  many  steps  he  called  out,  i  the  subject,  Henry.' 
and  they  turned.  'But  my  fear  was,  sir,   that  you  would  not 

•Mary!  before  you  tie  yourself  up  irrevocably, 'bring  the  common  sense  to  bear,' freely  spoke 
I  hope  you  will  reflect  upon  the  ignominy  of  his ,  Henry. 

being  nothing  on  earth  but  a  manufacturer.  A>  •You  do  not  quite  understand  me.  Had  I  en-" 
pretty  come  down,  that,  for  the  Lady  Marr  who^tertained  an  insuperable  objection  to  Mary's  be- 
might  hart  been!'  ^ coming  his  wife,  do  you  suppose  I  should  have 

He  vrt*  in  one  of  his  most  ironical  moods;  a;;  been  so  wanting  in  prudence  and  forethought  as 
sure  sign  that  his  inward  state  was  that  of  glow- ,'^  to  have  allowed  opportunity  for  an  attachment  to 
ing  satisfaction.  This  had  been  his  hope  for  years;  ripen?  I  have  long  believed  that  there  was  no 
°~liiaplai>  it  may  bviaid;  but  be  had  kept  faim-^man  within  the  circle  of  my  acquaiatance,  or 


ASRS.  HALUBURT«W'S  TROHBLES, 


m 


without  it,  so  deserving  of  Mary,  except  in  for- 
tune; Iherefore  I  suffered  him  to  come  here,  with 
my  eyes  open  as  to  what  might  be  the  result.  A 
Tery  probable  result,  it  has  appeared  to  me.  I 
would  forgive  any  girl  who  fell  in  love  with  Wil- 
liam Halliburton.' 

•And  what  about  ways  and  means.'' 

•William's  share  shall  be  increased,  and  Mary 
will  not  go  to  him  dowerless.  They  must  live  in 
our  house  in  Helstonleigh;  and  when  we  want  to 
go  there  we  must  be  their  guests.' 

'It  will  be  the  working  out  of  my  visions,'  said 
Henry,  in  a  low,  deep  tone.  '1  have  seen  them  in 
it  in  fancy;  in  that  very  house;  and  myself  wiilj 
them,  my  home  when  1  please.  I  think  you  hare 
been  planning  for  me,  as  much  as  for  them.' 

'Not  exactly,  Henry.  I  have  not  planned.  I 
have  only  let  things  take  their  course.  It  will  be 
happier  for  you,  my  boy,  than  if  she  had  gone 
from  us  to  be  Lady  Marr.' 

•Oh  !  if  ever  I  felt  inclined  to  smother  a  man, 
it  was  that  Marr.  I  never,  you  know,  brought 
myself  to  be  decently  civil  to  him.  There's  no 
answering  for  the  vanity  of  maidens,  anS  I 
thought  it  just  possible  he  might  put  William's 
nose  out  of  joint.     What  will  the  mother  say  ?' 

'The  mother  will  be  divided,'  said  Mr.  Ashley, 
*  smile  crossing  his  face.  'She  likes  William; 
but  she  likes  a  title.  We  must  allow  her  a  day 
or  two  to  get  over  it.  I  will  go  and  give  her  the 
tidings  now,  if  Mary  has  not.' 

•Mary  is  with  her  lovier,'  returned  Henry. 
•She  can't  have  dragged  herself  away  from  him 
yet.' 

Mary,  however,  was  not  with  her  •lovier.'  As 
Mr.  Ashley  crossed  the  hall,  he  me^er.  She 
stopped  in  hesitation,  and  coloured  viVldly. 

•Well,  Mary,  I  soon  sent  you  a  candidate; 
though  it  was  in  defiance  of  your  express  orders. 
Did  I  do  right  ?' 

Mary  burst  into  tears,  and  Mr.  Ashley  drew 
her  face  to  him.  'May  God  bless  your  future  and 
his,  my  child  !' 

'I  am  afraid  to  tell  mamma,' she  lobbed.  'I 
think  she  will  be  angry.  I  could  not  help  liking 
him.' 

'Why,  that  is  the  very  excuse  be  made  to  me  I 
Neither  can  I  help  liking  him,  Mary.  I  will  tell 
mamma.' 

Mrs.  Ashley  received  the  tidings,  not  altogether 
with  equanimity.  As  Mr.  Ashley  had  surmised, 
she  was  divided  between  conOicting  opinionn. 
She  liked  nn-i  admired  William;  but  the  equally 
liked  and  admired  a  title  and  fortune. 

'Such  a  position  to  relinquish — the  union  with 
Sir  Harry  !' 

•Had  the  married  Sir  Harry  we  should  bare 
lott  her,'  taid  Mr.  Aibley. 


,'     •Lost  her!' 

•To  be  sure  we  should.  She  would  ^ve  gone 
;  to  her  new  home,  twelve'  miles  on  the  other  side 
'^Helstonleigh,  amidst  her  new  connections,  and 
;  have  been  lost  to  us,  save  for  a  formal  visit  now 

and  then.     As  it  is,  we  shall  keep  her,  at  her  old 

home.' 
'Yes,  there's  a  great  deal  to  bo  said  on  both 

sides,'  acknowledged  Mrs.  Ashley.     'What  does 

Henry  say  ?' 
'That  he  thinks  I  have  been  planning  to  secure 
;  his  happiness.  Had  Mary  married  away,  we — 
!  when  we  quit  this  scene — must  have  left  him  to 
;  his  lonely  self;  now,  we  shall  leave  him  to  them. 
^Things  are  wisely  ordered,'  impressively  added 
;  Mr.  Ashley;  'in  this,  as  in  all  else.  Margaret,  let 
'/  us  accept  them,  and  be  grateful.' 

j  Mrs.  Ashley  went  to  seek  William.  'You  will 
;  be  a  loving  husband  to  her,'  she  said  with  agita- 
vtion.  •You  will  take  care  of  her  and  cherish 
;her.>' 

;  •With  the  best  endeavours  of  my  whole  life,' 
.  he  fervently  answered,  as  he  took  Mrs.  Ashley's 
'  hands  in  his. 

\  It  was  a  happy  group  that  evening.  Henry 
<)  lay  on  his  sofa  in  complacent  ease.  Mary  pulled 
down  beside  him,  and  William  leaning  over  its 
'back,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ashley  sat  at  a  dis- 
;tance,  partially  out  of  hearing. 
(  'Have  you  heard  what  the  master  says."  asked 
;  Henry.  'He  thinks  you  have  been  getting  up 
I  your  bargain  out  of  complaisance  to  me.  You  are 
I  aware,  I  hope,  Mr.  William,  that  whoever  takes 
'  Mary  must  take  me  r'  • 

•I  am  perfectly  willing.' 
'It  is  well  you  are!     And — do  you  know  where 
]  you  are  to  live  ':' 

i     William  shook  his  head.    'You  can  understand 
'how  all  these  future  considerations  have  weighed 
;me  down,'  he  said,  glancing  at  Mary. 
I     'You  are  to  live  at  the  house  in  Helstonleigh. 
It's  to  be  converted   into  yours  by  some  patent 
process.    The  master  had  an  eye  to  this,!  know, 
when  he  declined  to  take  out  any  of  the  furni- 
ture, upon  our  removal  here.     The  house  is  to  be 
yours,  and  the  run  of  it  is  to  be  mine;  and  I  shall 
grtimble  tiway  to  my  heart's  content  at  you  both. 
What  do  you  answer  to  that,  Mr.  William.'     I 
don't  ask  her;  she's  nobody.' 

'I  can  only  answer  that  the  more  you  run  in  it, 
the  better  pleased  we  shall  be.  And  we  can  stand 
any  extent  of  grumbling.' 

'I  am  glad  you  can.  You  ought  to  by  this  time, 

for  you  have  been  pretty  well  seasoned  to  it.  So, 

i  in   the  fUslstonleigh  house,  remcmlier,   my  old 

I  rooms  are  mine;  and  I  iotend  to  be  the  plague  of 

(your  lirei.    After    a    time— »ay  it  be  a  Iodj 


lot  MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 

time  !— I  suppose  it  will  be  ««Mr.  Halliburton  of)  be  decided  when  they  met  at  William's  wedding. 
Deoffam  HalJ."  '  Frank  was  getting  on  well;  better  than  the  ordi- 

'What  nonsense  you  talk,  Henry!'  \  nary  run  of  aspirants;  he  had  come  through  Hel- 

•Nonsense '  1  shall  make  it  over  to  you.  Catch  J  stonleigh  two  or  three  limes  on  circuit,  and  had 
me  sticking  myself  out  here  in  solitary  state  to  picked  up  odds  and  ends  of  briefs  at  it. 
the  admiration  of  the  peacock!  What's  the  mat- j  Meanwhile  William  took  possession  of  Mr. 
ter  with  you  now,  you  two?  Oh,  well,  if  you  \  Ashley's  old  house  and  the  wedding  day  ap- 
turn  up  jour  noses  at  Deoffam.  it  shall  never  be  \  proached.  Besides  her  boys,  Jane  had  another 
yours.  I'll  leave  it  to  the  eldest  chickabiddy.  |  visitor  for  the  time;  her  brother  Francis,  who 
And  mark  you,  please!  I  shall  have  him  named  \  came  down  to  marry  them.  Perhaps  because  the 
"Ashley."  and  stand  his  godfather;  and  he'll  be  !  Vicar  of  Deoffam  had  recently  died.  He  might 
mine,  and  not  yours.     I  shall  do  just  as  1  like    have  come  all  the  same,  had  that  gouty  old  gen- 

-.1.   .L        u   1     1  1.   :f  tko..  ««iin«  o  apnvi^    anH    tleman  been  still  alive, 
with  the  whole  lot.  if  they  count  a  scoie,  ana  j  ,    ,      ,,  .,^    o.     .      i. 

spoil  them  as  much  as  I  choose.'  .  i      All  clear  and  cloudless  rose  the  September  sun 

•What   h  the   matter  there?'  exclaimed  Mrs.  j  o°   Deoffam;   never  a  brighter  sun  shone  on  a 
Ashley,  perceiving  a  commotion  on  the  sofa.         i  redding.     It  was  a  very  quiet  wedding;  but  few 

Mary  succeeded  in  freeing  herself,  and  went    guests  bemg  mviUd  to  it.     Mary,   in   her  white 

...  J  /. .Momn^o   T  think  Hpnrv    lace  robes  and  her  floating  veil — flushed,  timid, 

away  with  a  red  face.     'Mamma,  1  ininK  Henry ;  ,       .  .     ,        ,    . ,  • , 

.  u        •  ♦  ^<-v,;„  «,;r,ri  I     Ho  ia  taikinir  so    lovely — stood   with   her    bridesmaids;  not  more 

must  be  going  out  of  his  mind !    He  is  talking  so  J 

absurdly.' 

•Absurdly! 
Ham!' 

William  laughed, 
rate 


Was    what    I  sai(J  absurd,^  Wil- 
'tt  was  premature,  at  any 


lovely  than  one  of  those  bridesmaids;  for  one  was 
Anna  Lynn. 

Anna  Lynn!  Yes;  Anna  Lynn.  To  the  lasting 
scandal  of  Patience,  Anna  stood  in  the  open 
church,  dressed  in  bridesmaid's  clothes.     Mary, 


'nenry  stretched  up  his  hands  and  laid  hold  of   ^ho  had  not  been  permitted  the  same  intimacy 

Williani's.     'It  is  true  what  Mary  says-that  I    ^ith  Anna  since  that  marked  and  unhappy  time, 

.u        •       ^„t  ^f  «.«  ,v,;r,H      sjr.  T  QTYi.  with    but  vi'ho  had  loved  her  all   along,   had  been   al- 

must  be  going  out  of  my  mind,    bo  1  am.  wiin  . ,     . ,       .  .  ,      *     u         u     e  r  k 

,  1  lowed  by  Mrs.  Ashley  to  choose  her  for  one  01  her 

•'  ^*  I  bridesmaids.     The  invitation  was  proffered,  and 

But  the  report  of  Herbert  Dare's  death  proved  j  Samuel  Lynn  did  not  see  fit  to  decline  it     Fa- 

to  be  a  false  one.  i  tience  was   indignantly  rebellious;    Anna,  wild 

with  delight.     Look  at  her,  as  she  stands  there! 
j  flowing  robes  of  white  around  her,  not  made  af- 

■ -<**■ ter  the  primitive  fashion  of  her  robes,  but  in  the 

(fashion  of  the  day;  and  her  falling  hair  shades 
her  carmine  cheeks,  and  her  blue  eyes  seek  mod- 
estly the  ground.     A  fair  picture;  and  a  danger- 
ous one  to  Henry  Ashley,  had  those  old  feelings 
i  of  his  remained  in  the  ascendant.    Cut  he  was 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     DREAM     REALIZED. 


THEapproachingmarriageof  William Hallibur-   cured;  as  he  told  William;  and  he  told  it  in 
ton  gave  rise  to  a  dispute.     A  dispute  of  love,    truth. 

though,  not  of  bitterness.  Frank  and  Gar  con-  A  short  while,  and  Anna  would  want  brides- 
tended 'which  should  get  their  mother.  William  |  maids  on  her  own  account;  though  that  may  be 
no  longer  wanted  her;  he  was  going  to  a  home  of  j  speaking  metaphorically  of  a  Quakeress.  Anna's 
his  own.  Frank  wished  to  lake  larger  chambers,  j  pretty  face  had  pierced  the  heart  of  one  of  their 
where  she  would  find  accommodation;  he  urged  S  male  body ;  and  he  had  asked  for  Anna  in  marriage, 
half  a  hundred  reasons;  his  grievances  with  his  (  A  very  desirable  male,  was  he,  in  a  social  point  of 
laundress,  and  his  buttonless  shirts.  Gar,  who  |  view:  and  female  Helstonleigh  turned  up  its  nose 
was  in  priest's  orders  now.  had  remained  in  that  |  in  envy  at  Anna's  fortune.  He  was  considerably 
same  first  curacy,  at  a  hundred  a  year  and  the  i  older  than  Anna:  a  fine-looking  man  and  a  wealthy 

one.  engaged  in  wholesale  business.  His  name 
was  Gurney;  his  residence,  outside  the  city,  was 
a  handsome  one,  replete  with  every  comfort; 
and  he  drove  a  carriage-and-pair.  He  had  been 
for  some  time  a  visitor  at  Samuel  Lynn's,  and 
Anna  had  learned  to  like  him.  That  his  object 
in  visiting  there  could  only  be   Anna,   everybody 


parsonage  house  to  live  in.  He  said  he  had  been 
wanting  his  mother  all  along,  and  he  could  not 
do  without  her. 

Jane  inclined  to  Gar.  She  said  she  had  a  no- 
tion that  old  ladies— how  they  would  have  re- 
belled at  hearing  her  call  herself  old  !— were  out 
of  place  in  a  young  barrister's  chambers;  and  she  | 


01  place  lu  a  ju""6  """•■^••>'*  " '-      -      (--  °  _    ,.  .-.        ,    . 

had  a  further  notion  that  chambers  were  but  com-   had  been  sure  of,  his  position  being  so  superior 
iMtlws  quarters  to  liTe  in.    The  question  was  to  i  to  Samuel  Lynn's.   Everybody  but  Anna.    Some- 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


lOB 


how,  since  that  past  escapade,  Anna  had  not  cast 
a  thought  to  marrying,  or  to  the  probability  of 
anybody's  asking  fier;  and  she  did  not  suspect  his 
intentions.  If  she  had  suspected  them,  she  might 
have  set  herself  against  him;  for  there  was  a  lit- 
tle spice  of  opposition  in  her,  which  she  loved  to 
indulge.  However,  before  that  suspicion  came 
to  her,  she  had  grown  to  care  for  him  too  much 
to  play  tlie  coquette.  Strange  to  stay,  there  was 
something  in  his  figure  and  in  the  outline  if  his 
face,  whicfi  put  people  in  mind  of  Herbert  Dare; 
but  his'features  and  their  expression  were  quite 
different. 

It  was  a  most  excellent  match  for  Anna;  there 
was  no  doubt  of  that;  but  it  did  not  afford  com- 
plete satisfaction  to  Patience.  Patience  felt  a 
foreboding  conviction  that  he  would  be  a  great 
deal  more  indulgent  to  Anna  than  she  considered 
was  wholesomely  good  for  her;  Patience  had  a 
misgiving  that  Anna  would  be  putting  off  her  caps 
as  she  chose,  then,  and  would  not  be  reprimanded 
for  it.  Not  unlikely;  could  that  future  bride- 
groom,Charles  Gurney,  see  Anna  as  she  stands 
now  I  for  a  more  charming  picture  never  was 
seen. 

WUIiam,  quiet  and  self-possessed  received  Mary 
from  the  hands  of  her  father,  who  gave  her  away 
The  Reverend  Francis  Tail  read  the  service,  and 
Gar,  in  his  white  canonicals,  stood  with  him, 
after  the  new  fashion  01  the  day.  They 'il  soon  be 
for  having  as  many  clergymen  as  bridesmaids! 
Jane's  tears  dropped  on  her  pearl-grey  damask 
dress;  Frank  made  himself  very  busy  amongst 
the  bridesmaids;  and  Henry  Ashley  was  in  his 
most  mocking  mood.  Thus  they  were  made  man 
and  wife;  and  Mr.  Tait's  voice  rose  high  and 
echoed  down  ihe  aisles  of  the  little  old  church  at 
Deoffara,  as  he  spoke  the  solemn  injunction — 
•Those  whom  God  hath  joined  together,  let 

HOT  MAN  PUT  ASl'NDER.' 

Helstonleigh's  streets  were  lined  that  day,  and 
Helstonleigh's  windows  were  alive  with  heads. 
It  was  known  that  the  bride  and  bridegroom  would 
pass  through  the  town,  on  the  first  stage  of  their 
bridal  tour,  whose  ultimate  destination  was  to  be 
the  Continent.  The  whole  crowd  of  the  Ashley 
workpeople  had  gathered  outside  the  manufac- 
tory, neglecting  their  afternoon's  work;  a  neglect 
which  Samuel  Lynn  not  only  winked  at,  but  par- 
ticipated in,  for  he  stood  with  them.  As  the  car- 
riage, which  was  Mr.  Ashley's,  came  in  sight, 
its  four  horses  urged  by  the  postilions  to  a  sharp 
trot,  one  deafening  cheer  arose  from  the  men. 
William  laughed  and  noddt-d  to  them;  but  they 
did  not  get  half  a  good  view  of  the  master's 
daughter  beside  him:  nothing  but  a  glimpse  of  a 
flushed  cheek,  and  a  piece  of  a  white  Teil. 

Slouchlof  ,>t  the  eorn«r  of  a  »treet,  in  a  leedj 


coat,  his  eyes  bloodshot,  was  Cyril  Dare.  Never 
did  one  look  more  of  a  mauvais  sujet,  than  he,  as 
he  watched  the  chariot  pass.  The  place,  now 
occupied  by  William,  might  have  been  his;  had  he 
so  willed  it  and  worked  for  it.  Not,  perhaps, 
that  of  Mary's  husband;  he  could  not  be  sure  of 
that,  but  as  Mr.  Ashley's  partner.  Abttercloud 
of  disappointment,  of  repentance,  crossed  his 
face  as  he  looked  at  them.  They  both  saw  him 
standing  there;  did  Mary  think  what  a  prom  ising 
husband  he  would  have  made  her?  Cyril  flung  a 
word  after  them;  and  it  was  not  a  blessing. 

Dobbs  had  also  fluRg  something  after  them,  and 
in  point  of  time   and   precedence   this   ought  to 
have  been  mentionediirst.     Patience,   watching 
from  her  window,  curious  as  everybody  else,  had 
seen  Dobbs  come  out  with   something  under  her 
apron,  and  take  up  her  station  at  the  gate,  where 
she  waited  patiently  for  just  an  hour  and  a  quar- 
ter.    As  the  carriage  had  come  in   view,   Dobbs 
;  sheltered  herself  behind  the  shrubs,  nothing  to  be 
!  seen  of  her  above  them,  but   her  cap   and  eyes. 
;  The  moment  the   carriage   was  pa^t,    out  flew 
I  Dobbs  te  the  middle  of  the  road.  Patience's  im- 
!  pression  being  that  she  was  going  to  hang  on  bo- 
hind.    No  such  thing.     Bringing  forth  from  their 
I  hiding-place    a   pair  of   shoes   considerably  the 
J  worse  for  wear,  the  one  possessing  no  sole,  and 
;  the  other  no  upper-leather.   Dobbs  dashed    them 
i  with  force  after  the  chariot,  very  much    discom- 
[  posing  the  man-servant  in  the  rear,  whose  head 
]  ihey  struck. 

I  'Nothing  like  old  shoes  to  bring  *em  luck,' 
!  grunted  Dobbs  to  Patience,  as  she  retired  in 
j  doors.  'I  never  knew  good  come  of  a  wedding 
,  that  didn't  get  'em.'  © 

:  '1  wish  them  luck,  the  luck  of  a  safe  arrival 
I  home  from  those  unpleasant  foreign  parts,'  em- 
'  phatically  remarked  Patience,  who  had  found  her 
;  residence  amongst  the  French  nothing  le»i  than  a 
!  species  of  terrestrial  purgatory.' 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


THE     BISHOP  •    LETTER. 


A  DAT  or  two  after  the  wedding,  a  letter  was 
delivered  at  Mrs.  Halliburton's  residence,  ad- 
dressed to  Gar.  Its  seal,  a  mitre,  prepared  Gar 
to  find  that  it  came  from  tha  Bishop  of  Helston- 
leigh.  Its  contents  proved  to  be  a  mandate, com- 
manding his  atlcnddnre  the  following  morning  at 
the  palace  at  nine  o'clock.  Gar  turned  nerrotu. 
Had  be  lallM  under  bis  bishop's  displeasure,  and 
wai  at>out  to  be    repriuumded  '    Mr.  Tail  ba4 


104 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON  •«  TROBBLES. 


gone  back  lo  London;  Gar  was  to  leave  on  the<     'That  I  am  not.    I  put  by  all  I  can.    It  ii  true 

following  day,  Saturday;  Frank  meant  to  stay  on  |  that  I  don't  live  upon  dry  bread  and  potatoes  six 

for  a  week  or  two.     It  was  his  vacation.  |  days  in  the  week,   as  you   know  we  have  done; 

•That's  Gar  all  over !'  crie4  Frank,  who  had    but  I  take  care  that  my  expenses  are  moderate. 

perched  himself  on  a  side  table.     'Gar  is  sure  to    It  is  the  keeping  hare-brained  follies   at  arm's 

go  to   the   dark  side  of   things;   instead  of  the   length  that  enables  me  lo  save.' 

bright.    If  the  Lord  Chancellor  sent  for  me,  I       'And  now,  Frank,  for  another  question.  What 

should  set  it  down  that  my  fortune  was  about  to    made  you  send  me  that  hundred-pound  note .'' 

be  made.    His  lordship's  going  to  present  you       'I  shall  send  you  another  soon,' was  all  Frank's 

with  a  living,  Gar.'  s  answer.  'The  idea  of  my  gaining  a  superfluity  of 

._,,,,  J,,      ,     4  J   #1  iT]iTu„*  :„♦„„„„*' money,  and  sending  none  to  my  darling  mother.' 

•That's  good!'  retorted  Gar.    •What  interest  s     .„  V.    ,     ,,,,,,  u  ..    ^   •  -.u  •* 

T     wL^u    V  u      •,  \     'But  mdeed  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it, 

have  I  with  the  bishop :'  '       ^  r      i       r  j        ^  •      -w 

.     ,TT    ,      1  1  u  >  <  Frank.    I  do  not  require  it.' 

•He  has  known  you  long  enough.'  [  ^ 

'As  he  has  many  others.  If  the  bishop  inter- ^  'Then  put  it  by  to  look  at.  As  long  as  I  have 
ested  himself  for  all  the  clergymen  who  have  ;  brains  to  work  with,  I  shall  think  of  my  mother, 
been  educated  at  Helstonleigh  college  school,  ht  J  Have  you  forgotten  how  she  worked  for  us?  I 
would  have  enough  upon  his  hands.  I  expect  it  j  wish  you  would  come  and  live  with  me.' 
is  to  find  fault  with  me  for  some  unconscious  of-j  Jane  entered  into  all  the  arguments  why  she 
fence-'  Adeemed  she  should  be  better  with  Gar.    Not  the 

•Go  it.  Gar— you'll  get  no  sleep  to-night.'  i  least  of  them  was,  that  she  should  still  be  near 

•Frank,  I  must  say  the  note  appears  to  be  a  /  Helstonleigh.  Of  all  her  sons,  Jane,  perhaps  un- 
peremptory  one,'  remarked  Jane.  <  consciously  to  herself,  most  loved  her  eldest;  and 

•Middling  for  that.    It's  short,  if  not  sweet.'     ;  to  go  far  away  from  him  would  have  been  another 

Whether  Gar  got  any  sleep  or  not,  that  night,  >  trouble, 
he  did  not  say;  but  he  started  to  keep  the  appoint-^     By-and-by  they  saw  Gar  coming  back.    And 
ment  punctually.    His   mother    and    Frank  re-  ^  jjg  jj^  ^qj  JqqJj  j^g  jf  |jg  jjjjj  ^gg^  receiving  a  rep- 
mained  together,  and  Jane  fell  into  a  bit  of  quiets  pjmand;  quite  the  contrary.     He  came  in  nearly 
talk,  over  the  breakfast  table.  ag  impulsively  as  he  used  to  do  in  his  school-boy 

•Frank,'  said  she,  'I  am  often  uneasy  about  |  days. 

you.'  <     'Frank,  you  were  right !  The  bishop  is  going  to 

•About  me !'  cried  Frank,  in  considerable  won- 1  gjyg  me  a  living.     Mother,  it  is  true.' 

derment.  >     <of  course,'  said  Frank.     'I  always  am  right.' 

•If  you  were  to  go  wrong !    I  know  what  the  <     ,r^^^  ^^.^^^^  ^j^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^^-^.^^  ^  ^^j^^^^^ 

temptations  of  a  London  life  must  be.  Especially  l  although  I  was  there  before  my  time.    He  was 

to  a  young  ng,n  who  has,  so  to  say,  no  home.'       '^  ^^^^  jjjjj^^  ^^^  gj^ooj^  j^^nds  with  me ' 

•I  steer  clear  of  them.  Mother  darling,  I  am  >  «But  about  the  living.''  cried  impatient  Frank, 
telling  you  the  truth,'  he  added  earnestly.  'Do/  «I  am  telling  you,  Frank.  The  bishop  said  he 
you  think  we  could  ever  fall  away,  from  such  ^  ^ad  v/atched  us  grow  up — meaning  jou,  as  well 
training  as  yours  ?  No.  Look  at  what  William  ^  _and  he  felt  pleased  to  tell  me  that  he  had  never 
is;  look  at;.  Gar;  and  for  myself,  though  I  don'i^seen  anything  but  good  in  either  of  us.  But  I 
like  to  boast,  I  assure  you,  the  Anti-ill-doing-§o- 1  „eed  not  repeat  all  that.  He  went  on  to  ask  me 
ciety — if  you-  have  ever  heard  of  that  respected  <  whether  1  should  be  prepared  to  do  my  duty  zeal- 

hody might  hoist  me   on  a  pedestal  at  Exeter  >  ously  in  a  living,  were  one  given  to  me.     I  an- 

Hall,  as  their  choice  model.     You  don't  like  mj  '^  swered  that  I  hoped  I  should — and  the  short  and 

ioking!     Believe   me,   then,  in   all  seriousness,  |  the  long  of  it  is,  that  I  am  going  to  be  appointed 

that  your  sons  will  never  fail  you.    We  did  not  <  to  one.' 

battle  on  in  our  duty  as  boys,  to  forget  it  as  men.  (     'Long  live  the  bishop  !'  cried  Frank.  •Where's 

You  taught  us  the  bravest  lesson   that  a  mother  |  the  living  situated — in  the  moon." 

can  teach,  or  a  child  learn,  when  you  contrived  j     'Ah,  where  indeed?     Guess  what  living  it  is, 

to  impress  upon  us  the  truth  that  God  is  our  wit-  ^  mother.' 

ness  always,  ever  present.'  |      'Gardear,  how  can  I;'   asked  Jane.     'Is  it  a 

Jane's  eyes  filled  with  tears';  not  of  grief.  She  (  minor  canonry  ?' 
knew  that  Frank  was  speaking  from  his  heart.  They  both  laughed.  It  recalled  Jane  to  her  ab- 

' And  you  are. getting  on  well?'  sence  of  mind.    The  bishop  Lad  nothing  to  do 

'What  with  stray  briefs  that  come  to  me,  and  ,  with  the  bestowal  of  the  minor  canonr'es.  Nei- 
my  literary  work,  and  the  fellowship,  I  make  six  <  ther  could  a  minor  canonry  be  called  'a  living,' 


or  seven"  hundred  a  year  already.'  ^  i\ 
'I  hope  you  are  not  spending  it  all." 


•Mother,  it  is  Deoliam.' 
•Deoffam!  Oh, Gar!' 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


lo: 


'Yes,  it  13  Deoftam.     You  will  not  have  to  go^ 
far  away  from  Helstonleigh,  now.' 

'I'll  lay  my  court  wig  that  Mr  Ashley  has  had 
his  fingers  in  the  pie  !'  cried  quick  Frank. 

But,  in  point  of  fact,   the  gift  had  emanated 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


A  DTtNO   CONFEtSION. 


Meanwhile  William  Halliburton  and  his  wife 


^uL,  ...  ,,u.ui  ui   i<»i,i,,   1..0  5.1.  ..»  ..'had  crossed  the  Channel.     Amongst  oihor  letters 

from  the  pre  ate  himself.     And  a  very  good  gut  >      ....  r  .1         u  „      .u 

*^  ,    .  ^  written  to  convey  news  of  them  home,  was  the 

it  was-four  hundred  a  year    and  the  preU-est,)^^, j-^^.  j^  ^^^  ^^_^^^^  ^^  ^^^   ^^j^_ 

parsonage  house  within  ten  m.Ies.    The  br.ll.ant  >         ^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^ 

scholarship  of  the  Halnburtons,  attained   to  by  J     ^ 


)road  a  week  or  two. 


'Hotel  du  Chape.ait  Rouge,  Dunkerquf,  } 
September  94th.  ^ 

My  Ever  Dear  Mamma: 

•You  have  heard  from  William  how  it  was  that 


their  own  unflagging  industry,  the  high  character  ■ 
they  liad  always  borne,  had  not  been  lost  upon  ^ 
the  Bishop  of  Helstonleigh.  Gar's  conduct  as/ 
a  clergyman  had  been  exemplary;  Gar's  preach- > 

ing  was  of  bo  mean  order;  and  the  bishop  deemed  ■ 

that  such  a  one  as  Gar  ought  not  to  be  overlooked.  ;«'e  altered   our  intended  route.     I  thought  the 

The  day  has  gone  by  for  a  bishop  to  know  noth- ;««a-s'de  so  delightful  that  I  was  unwilling  to 
ing  of  the  younger  clergy  of  his  diocese,  and  hej  '^ave  .t,  even  for  Paris  and  we  determined  to 
of  Helstonleigh  had  got  Gar  Halliburton  down  J  «•«"««'"  «"  ^''^  c"=»st'  especially  as  I  shall  have 
in  his  preferment  book.  It  is  just  possible  that  >  "^^'•'''  opportunities  of  seeing  Paris  with  William, 
the  announcement  of  his  name  in  the  local  papers,  <  Boulogne  was  crowded  and  noisy,  so  we  quitted 
as  having  helped  lo  marry  his  brother  at  DeoHam.;  '^  '■°''  '««^  frequented  towns,  staying  a  day  or  two 
may  have  put  that  particular  Jiving  in  the  bish-|'"  *  P''*^®-  ^«  «'«"t  »»  Calais  and  to  Grave- 
op's  head.  Certain  it  was,  that  a  fciv  hoursaft^r^  ''"^^5  also  to  Courbourg,  and  to  Cassel-the  two 
the  bishop  read  it,  he  ordered  his  carriage,  and  \ '''""  »"*  «"  'f^^  ^o^^^-  T^^e  view  from  Cassel- 
went  to  pay  a  visit  at  De.flam  Hall.  During  \u>  i  ^''''^'^  ?«"  "»"«'  "^^^  confound  with  the  Ca.sel  of 
stay  betook  Mr.  Ashley's  arm»  and  dreiv  him ;  Germa-.y-is  magnificent.  We  met  some  Eng- 
outon  the  terrace,  very  much  as  though  he  wished  | '•^'^  P<^"P'«  «"  t''«  ^"'"'"'^  "^  ^^^  '^'"'  ''"'^  ^^^y 
to  lake  a  neur  view- of  the  peacock.  i''^'^    "«   t^'®    English    called    it   the  Malvern  of 

,,  ,         .  ,.  .  I  .        .-      ...  ,.  t     .        1  France.     I  am  not  sure  which  affords  the  finest 

•I  have  been  thinking,  Mr.  Ashley,  of  bestow-      .         /.,,,.,  m.  ,1,   .     •  u. 

**  ■"  <  view,  Cassel  or  Malvern.     They  say  that  eighty 

towns  or  villages  may  be  counted  from  ii;  but  I 


ing  the  living  of  DeoHam  upon  Edgar  Hallibur 
ton.     What  should  you  say  to  itr' 

'That  I  should  almost  feel  it  as  a  personal  fa 
vour  paid  to  myself,'  was  the  reply  of  Mr.  Ash 
ley. 


;  cannot  say  that  we  made  out  anything  like  so 
:  many.  We  can  see  the  sea  in  the  far  distance — 
as  we  can,  on  a  clear  day,  catch  a  glittering 
glimpse  fiH)m   Malvern  of  the  Bristol  Channel. 


•Then  it  is  done. 'said  the  bishop.  'He  is  young,  >  p^e  view  from  some  of  the  windows  of  the 
but  I  know  a  great  many  older  who  are  less  de-jgauvaee  Hotel  was  so  beautiful  that  I  was  never 
'^"''"g-'  Jiired  of  looking    at    it.     William    says   he  shall 

'Your  lordship  may  rely  upon  it  that  there  are  f  how  me  better  views  when  he  takes  me  to  Lyons 
few  men,  young  or  old,  who  are  so  intrinsicallj  '/  .tnd  Annonay,  but  I  scarcely  ihink  there  can  bo 
deserving  as  llie  Ilalliburtons.*  '',  'letler.     At  a  short  distance  rises  a  monastery  of 

•I  know  if,'  said  the  bishop.  'They  interested  ;  '"e  order  of  La  Trappe,  where  the  monks  never 
me  as  lado,  and  1  have  watched  them  ever  since    /  ^P'^a'''» '^^^'^  ^^^  "memento mori"  when  they  meet 

And  ihal  is  how  Gar  became  vicar  of  Deof- ;  »-ach  other.  Some  of  the  uses  of  the  hotel  were 
fsixn.  ';  i»rimilive;  they  gave  us  table-spoons  in  our  cufl'ee 

'You  will  be  trying  for  a  minor  canonry,  now, '  ""P*  ''^'"  breakfast. 

Gar,  1  suppose,  living  so  convenient  for  it,'  ob- ;     'f''"*'™  <^*«*«'  ""^  came  to  Dunkerque,  and  are 

<erved  Jane.  staying  at  the  Chapcau  Rouge,  the  only  large  ho- 

.Mi       u   III      .  11  1  t-    1  .  tel  in  the  place.     The  other  large  hotel  was  made 

'Mrs.  Halliburton,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  not  *  ^ 

..,   /.  ..  I  •    u     J  i,  •  .     ■         ,    into  a  convent  some  time  back:  both  are   in  the 

■  ')  put  loreii;n    notions  in  nis  head?    interrupied  ,      ^  t    •       ,. 

f       I.      .i>u     i>  J    /^  .   1     1       •  /■     ,  Hue  des  Capucins.     It  is  a  fine  and  verr  clean  old 

I- rai  k.     'The  Reverend    Gar  must   look  out  for  .  ^    ,  ,  « 

„  „,.     ^  ,  .    J    I  ...      '  fortified  town,  with  a  statue  of  Jean  Bart  in  the 

a  canonry;  not   a  minor.     And     he    won  t  sloi  • 

there.     When  I  am  on  the  woolsack,  in  my  plact '  '^''^'^'"  °'^**"'  P''"'  ^'''"  '''='"  ^"''  '*  *"  *^""''^' 

in   Ihe   Lords.  Gar  may   be  opposite    lo  me.  a'^"^   '^"^   ™"''**   ''   *'*''^    '"   '*'  ''"  Wednesdays 

"itiritiial  neer  '  '  and  Saturdays,  as  it  is  at    Ht-lstonleigh.     Such  a 

'jnnc    1-ughed.    as    did    Frank.     Who   ^^^^U^o'>,At6%cf,x^f,ov^yUB^»\nri^^\^^iht^omtr^^^ 


though  ?     It  ali  lay  iu  Uie  future. 


14 


*now-white  caps  quite  shine  in  the  «un.     I  cannot 


/tell  you  how  much    I   like  to  look   at  these  old 
]  Flemiab  towns  !    By  moonlight,  i^y  look  •xticWj 


106 


&ms.  HALUBUKTOiX'S  TJR-OUBLfiS. 


like  the  towns  you  are  familiar  with  in  the  old  j  she  answered.  "The  Belgian  doctor  said  if  I  had 
pictures.  Ttierc  is  a  large  basin  here,  and  a  Jong  '■  a  change  it  might  do  something  for  me,  ar.d  I  came 
harbour  and  pier.  One  English  lady,  wlion^  we  j  here:  it  vvas  the  same  to  me  where  1  went.  But  it 
met  at  t'lc  table  d'hote,  said  she  had  never  been  ;  did  me  harm  instead  of  good.  I  got  worse  directly 
to  the  c:i(i  of  the  pier  yet,  and  she  had  lived  in  i  I  came;  and  tlie  doctor  here  said  1  must  not  move 
Dunk*!rqae  four  years.  It  \yas  loo  far  for  a  walk,  j  away  again,  the  travelling  would  injure  me.  What 
she  said.  The  country  round  is  fiat  and  poor,  and  j  mattered  it.'  As  good  die  here  as  elsewhere," 
the  lower  classes  mostly  speak  Flemish.  |  That  she  had  death  written  plainly  in    her  face, 

•On  Monday  we  went  by  barge  to  a  place  called  |  was  evident;  nevertheless,  William  essayed  to 
Eergues,  four  miles  off.  It  was  market  day  there,  say  a  word  of  hope  to  her:  but  she  mteirupted 
and  the  barge  was  crowded  wiih  passengers  from  i  him.  "There's  no  recovery  forme;  I  am  sure  to 
Dunkerque.  A  nice  old  town  with  a  fine  church. ;  die;  and  the  lime  it's  to  be  hoped,  will  not  be 
They  charged  us  only  five  sous  for  our  passage.  J  lona:  in  coming,  or  my  money  will  not  hold  out." 
But  I  must  leave  all  these  descriplioi.s  until  I  get  j  She  spoke  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone  shocking  to 
home,  and  come  to  v/hat  1  have  chiefly  to  leil  i  hear:  and  before  I  could  call  up  aay  answer,  she 
you.  ;  turned  lo  William.    "You  are  the  William  Halli- 

'There  is  a  piece  of  enclosed  ground  here,  called  ; — I  never  could  say  the  name — who  was  at    Mr. 

the   Pare.     On    the    previous    Saturday,  which  >  Ashley's  with  Cyiii  Dare.     May  I  ask  where  you 

was  the  day  we  first  arrived  here,  I  and  William    havedescended  in  Dunberque?"  "At  IheChupeau 

were  walking  through  it,  and  sat  dawn  on  one  off  Rouge,"   replied  William.      "Then,  if  1  should 

the  benches  facing  the  old  tower.     1  was   rather  '  send  there  lo  ask  you  to  come  and    speak   with 

tired,  having  been  to  the  end  of  the  pier — for  its    me,  will  you  comer"  she   continued.     "I   have 

length  did  not  friglhen  us.     Some  one  was  seated  '/  something  that  I  should  l*ke  to  tell  you   before  I 

at  the  other  end  of  the  bench,  but  we  did  not  take  )  die."     Williain  informed  her  we  should  remain 

particular  notice  of  her.     Suddenly   she  turned  '  a  week;  and  we  wished   her  good    morning  and 

to  me,  and  spoke:  "Have  I  not  the  honour  of  see- ',  moved  away  into  another  walk.  Soon  aftt  rwprds, 

ing  Miss   Ashley?"    Mamma,  you  may  imagine  \  we  saw  a  Si-,ter  of  Charity,  one  of  those  who  go 

my  surprise.     H  was  that  Italian  governess  of  the  Ubout  nursing  the  sick,   come  up  to  her  and   lead 

Dares,  Mademoiselle  Varsini  as  they  used  to  call  !  her  away.     She  could  scarcely  crawl,  and  halted 

her.     William  interposed:    I  don't  think  he  liked  J  to  take  breath  between  every  few  steps. 

her  speaking  to  me.     I  suppose  he  thought  of  that  ■;     «This,   I   have   told  you,   was   last  Saturday. 

story  about  her,  which  came  over  from  Germany   j  This  evening,  Wednesd.iy,  just  as  we  were  rising 

He  rose  and  took  me  on  his  arm   to  jhove  away   ]  from  table,  a  waiter  came  to  William  and  called 

"Formerly  Miss  Ashley,"  he  said  to  her:    "now  \  him  out,  saying  he  was  wanted,     it  proved  to  be 

Mrs.  Halliburton."    But   William's  anger  died  i  the  Sister  of  Charity  that  we   had   seen   in   the 

away— if  he  had  felt  any— when  he  saw  her  face  j  park;  she  told  William  that  Madame  Varsini  was 

I  cannot  describe  to  you  how  fearfully  ill  she  j  near  death,  and  had  sent  her  for  him.     So  Wil- 

looked.    Hereheeka  were  white,  and  drawn,  and  I  liam  went  with  her,   and  I  have  been  writing  this 

hollow;  her  eyes  were  sunk  within  a  dark  circle;!  to  you  since  his  departure.  It  is  now  ten  o'clock, 

and  her  lips  were  open  and  looked  black.     "Are    .^^d  he  is  not  yet  back.     I  shi.ll  keep  this  open  to 

you  ill?."  1  a-ked  her.  "J  am  .so  ill  that  a  few  days    tell  you   what  she  wanted  with  him.     I   cannot 

will  be  the  finish  of  me,"  she  answered,    "The  >  imagine. 

doctor  gave  me  to  the  falling  of  the  leaves,  and  |     « Past  eleven.    William  has  come  in.     He  thinks 

many  are  already  strewing  the  grass:  in  less  than    she  will  not  live  over    to-morrow.     And   I  have 

a  week's  time,"from  this,  I  shall  be  lower  than  |  kept  my  letter  open  for  nothing,  for  William  will 

they  are."  "I.s  Herbert  Dare  with  you  ?"inquired  j  not  tell  me.     He  says  she   has   been  .talking  to 

William— but  ho  has  said  since  that  he  spoke  \  him  about  herself  and  the  Dares;  but  that  the 

in  the  moment's  impulse;  had   he  taken  thought,  ]  tale  is  more  fit  for  papa's  ears  than  for  jours  or 

hp  would  not  have  put  the  question.     "No,  he  is  ■'  mine. 

not  with  me,"  she  answered,  in  a  shrieking  angry  |      «My  sincerest  love  to  papa  and  Henry.   We  are 

tone.     "I  know   nothing  of   him;   he  is  just  a  ;  go  glad  Gar  is  to  be  at  Deo.lam  !— and   believe 

vagabond  on  the  face  of  the  earth."     "What  is  it  \  me,  my  dear  mamma,  to  be  your  ever-loving  and 

that  IS  the  matter  with  you  ?"'  William  asked  her.  \  dutiltil  child, 

"Th<y  call  it  decay,"  she  answt^red.     «'I  v.'as  in  ']  •Mart  Halliburton. 

Brussels,  getting  my  living  by  daily   teaching.     I        .,,  ,  ,  ,     .  ,        .  ,,.. 

.,    _,  *         ,,         »u  iTi-i  .  •Excuse  the  smear.    1  had  nearly  put  "Mary 

had  to  go  out  ui  ail  weathers,  and  I  did  not  take     .,,,,.  , 

Asnlcv 
h«-ed  to  tne  colds  I  caught.     I   suppose  th^y  set- ; 

Ued  on  my  lungs."  "Have  you  been  in  this  town  ;     This  meeting  described  in  Mary's  letter,  must 

loQgV  w»  inquired  of  h»r.  "I  cane  in  August," ,  have  been  one  of  those  remarkable  coincidencei 


Mils.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


107 


that  sotnetimea  occur  during  a  lifetime.    Chance  '    'Lord  Hawkesley  ?    Oh,  no.     All  inlituacy  has 

encounters  they  are  sometimes  called  !     Chance  !  /  ceased.' 

Had  William  and  his  wife  not  gone  to  Dunkerque  ;     'They  have  gone  down,  have  they  not  ?    They 

— and  they  went  there   by  accident,   as  may   be  I  are  very  poor?' 

said,  for  the  original  plan  had  been  to  spend  their       '1  fear  they  are  poor  now.  Yes,  they  have  very 

absence  in  Paris — they  would  not  have  met.     Had  :  much  gone  down.     May  I  inquire  what  it  is  you 

the   Italian  lady  not  gone  to   Dunkerque  when   want  with  me?' 

ordered  change — and  she  chose  it  by   accidence,':     'You  inquire  soon,' she  answered,  in  a  resent- 

she  said — they  would  not  have  met.     But  sorae-;ful  tone.  'Do  you  fear  I  should  contaminate  you  .' 

bow  both  parties  were  brought  there,  and  they  did  < — as  you  feared  for  your  wife  on  Saturday  ?' 

meet.     It  was  not  chance  tliat  led  them.  >     'If  1  can  aid  you  in  any  way  I  shall  be  happy 

When  William  went  out  with  the  sister,  she  s^^^d  ready,' was  William's  answer,  spoken  sooth- 
conducted  film  to  a  small  lodging  in  the  Rue  Na-  'ingb'-  'i  think  you  are  very  ill.' 
tionale,  a  street  not  far  from  the  hotel.  The  ac- '  ^"^'^^  doctor  was  hero  this  afternoon.  "Ma 
commodation  appeared  to  consist  of  a  small  ante- ;^'^^'''®»'' said  he,  "to-morrow  will  about  end  it. 
room  and  a  bed-chamber.  The  Signora  Varsini  ^  ^"^  "^e  too  weak  to  last  longer;  the  inside  is 
was  in  the  latter,  dressed  in  a  peignoir,  and  sit-<6one. 

ling  in  an  arm-chair,  supported  by  cushions.  A  ■  'Did  he  speak  to  you  in  that  way?— a  medical 
washed-out,  faded  peignor,  possibly  the  very  one^^*'**' 

she  had  worn  years  ago,  the  night  of  the  death  oil  'He  is  aware  that  I  know  as  much  about  my 
Anthony  Dare.  William  was  surprised;  by  the ^ own  state  as  he  does.  He  might  not  be  so  plain 
sister's  account  he  had  expected  to  find  her  in  /  with  all  his  patients.  Then  I  said  to  the  sister: 
bed,  almost  in  the  last  extremity.  But  hers  was'!  "Get  me  up  and  make  the  bed,  fur  1  must  see  a 
a  restless  spirit  She  was  evidently  weaker,  and;  friend" — and  I  sent  her  for  you.  I  told  you  t 
her  breath  seemed  to  come  in  gasps.  William  J  wanted  you  to  do  me  a  little  service.  Will  you 
sat  down  in  a  chair  opposite  to  her;  he  could  not;  do  it?' 
see  very  much  of  her  face,  for  the  small  lamp  on  J     '^f  I  can.' 

the  table  bad  a  green  shade  over  it,  which  cast  ^  Mt  is  not  much.  It  is  this,' she  added,  drawing 
its  gloom  on  the  room.  The  sister  retired  to  the;  fro™  underneath  the  peignoir  a  small  packet, 
antcrroom  and  closed  the  door  between  with  a  sealed  and  stamped,  looking  like  a  thick  letter, 
caution.  'Madame  was  n6t  to  talk  much.'  For}'^'"  J^u  undertake  to  put  this  surely  in  the  post 
a  few  moments  after  the  first  greeting,  she,  «Mad-<afler  i  am  dead?  I  do  not  want  it  posted  before.' 
aaic,'  kept  silence;  th»-n  she  spoke  in  English.       ]     'Certainly  I  will,'  he  answered,  taking  it  from 

•I  should  not  have  known  you.  I  never  saw  ;'  ^'"'  ^^"'^'  3"*^  gla.icing  at  the  superscription.  It 
iinich  of  you.  But  I  knew  Miss  Ashley  in  a  i  *^^  *^'^'"^s**^'* '«  Herbert  Dare  at  Dusseldorf.  •!» 
minute.     Yo.i  must  have  got  on  well.'  ^  ^^  ^^^^^  • '  ^^^^'^  William. 


'Yes.     I  am  Mr.  Ashley's  partner.' 

•So!  That  is  whatC)ri!  Dare  coveted  forjiim-/ 


♦That  was  his  address  the  last  I  heard  of  him. 
^  He  is  now  here,  now  there,  now  elsewhere;  a 


";.,j^  vagabond,  as  I  told  you,  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
J"      I  He    is    like    Cain,'  she  vehemently  continued. 


self.     Miss  Ashley  aNo.  ''Bah,  Monsieur 

said  I  sometimes  to  my  mind;  "neither  the  one  J  ^    „         j       ,    u       . 

.,       .,       f     .u      ,.    xxiu  u    ,1  M.-ain  »vandtred  abroad  over  the  earth,  never  find- 

nor  the  other  for  thee."    Where  is  he?'  ,„„..„.      a    .j        u     u    .  I^  ..r^ 

;  ing  rest.    So  does  Herbert  Dare.   Who  wonders  ? 

'Cyril?     Hcisathorae.     Doing  no  good.'  ^  Cain  killed  his  brother;  what  did  A«  do?' 

■He  never  do  good.'  she  said  with  acrimony.)      William  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  face;  as  much  of 

'  He  Herbert's  own  brother.  And  the  other  one—  ^  it  as  was  distinguishable  under  the  dark  shadccast 

George  ?'  ^  by  the  lamp.     That  she  appeared  to  be  in  a  very 

'George  is  in   Australia.     He  has  a  chance,  I  ^  demonstrative  state  of  resentment  against  Her- 

believe,  of  doing  pretty  well.'  '  bert  Dare,  was  indisputable. 

'Are  the  girls  married  ?'  .He  did  not  kill  his  brother,  at  any  rate.'  ob- 

'^°-'  served  William.     '1  fear  he  i*  not  a  good  man; 

'Not  Adelaide  !'  \  and  you  may  have  cause  to  know  that  m.re  con- 

'No.'  [clusively  ihan  I;  but  he  did  not  kill  his  brother. 

Something  like  a  smile  curled  her  dark  ai;d  fe-    Vou  were  in  Helstonleigh  at  the  lime,  madcmoi- 

vered    lips.     'Mademoiselle    Adelaide,   she    was  ^ellc,  and  must  remember  that  he  was  cleared,' 

trying  after  that  vicomle.     "Bah  !"  I  would  say  )  added  William,  falling  into  the  mode  of  addretj- 

lo  myself  as  I  did  by  Cyril,  "there's  no  vicomte    ing  her  used  by  the  Dares. 

for  her;  he  is  only  playing  his  game."    Does  he       'Then  1  say  he  did  kill  him.' 

go  Ihcro  now?'  She  spoke  with    «low  distinctness.    William 


108 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


could  only  loolf  at  her  in  amazement.    Was  her'     'I  beg  you  to  be  calm,' interrupted  William, 
mind  wandering?    She  sat  glaring  at  him  with  ; 'This  excitement  must  be  most  injurious  to  one  in 
her  light  blue  eyes,  so  glazed,  yet  glistening;  just  <  your  weak  state;  I  cannot  sit  to  listen  to  it.' 
the  same  eyes  that  used  to  puzzle  old  Anthony/     'Tell  him,'   said    she,    leaning   forwaid,  and 
Dare.  <  speaking  in  a  somewhat  calmer  tone, 'tell  him 

'What  did  you  say?'  asked  William.  :  ihat  it  was  he  who  caused  the  death  of  his  bro- 

'I  say  that  Herbert  Dare  is  a  second  Cain,'  she  ( ther  Anthony.' 
answered.  ,     William  could  but  look  at  her.    Was  she  wan- 

' He  did  not  kill  Anthony,' repeated  William. ;  dering  ? 
•He  could  not  have  killed  him.     He  was  in  an-;     «/  killed  him,'  she  went  on.     'Killed  him  in 
o  ther  place  at  the  time.'  ;  mistake  for  Monsieur  Herbert.' 

'Yes.  With  that  Puritan  child  in  the  dainty^  Barely  had  the  words  left  her  lips,  when  all 
dress— fit  attire  only  for  your  folles  in— what;,  that  had  been  strange  in  that  past  tragedy  seemed 
you  call  the  place.'— Bedlam!  I  know  he  was/ to  roil  away  like  a  cloud  from  William's  mmd. 
in  another  place,'  she  continued;  and  she  ap-;; The  utter  mystery  there  had  been,  as  to  ihe  per- 
peared  to  be  getting  terribly  excited,  between  >  petraiort  the  almost  impossibility  of  pointing  ac- 
passion  and  natural  emotion.  llcusalion  to  any,  seemed   now  accounted  for;  and 

'Then  what  are  you  speaking  of!'  asked  Wil-'^  a  conviction  that  she  was  speaking  the  dreadful 
liara.  'It  is  an  impossibility  that  Herbert  could  J  truth  fell  upon  him.  Involuntarily  he  recoiled 
have  killed  his  brother.'  ';  from  her. 

'He  caused  him  to  be  killed.'  ;:     .He   used    me   ill;  yes,   he  used   me   ill,  that 

William  felt  a  nameless  dread  creeping  over  j  kicked  Herbert!'  she  continued  in  agitation, 
him.     'What  do  you  mean?' he  breathed.  ,<(He  told   me  stories;   he    was   false  to  me;  he 

Tsend  that  letter,  which  you  have  taken  charge  ^^  cocked  at  me  !  He  had  made  me  care  for  him; 
of,  to  Herbert  the  bad;  but  he  moves  about  from  ',  [  ^aied  for  him— ah,  1  not  tell  you  how.  And 
place  to  place,  and  it  may  never  reach  him.  So  \  ^^g^  ^^  turned  round  to  langh  at  me.  He  had 
I  want  to  tell  you  in  substance  whal  is  written  in  [  ^^^  amused  himself— pour  faire  passer  le  temps! ' 
the  letter,  that  you  m^y  repeat  it  to  him  when  ;  j^^^  ^^j^^  ^^^  ^-^^^  ^^  ^  ^j,^,^,^.  ,,^^  ^^^^  ^^^ 
you  come  across  him.  He  may  be  going  back  ^o  y^^^  g,^^  ghastly,  and  she  began  to  twitch  liltc 
Helstonleigh  some  day;  if  he  not  die  off  first  wiihf^^^g  ^^^^  i9*go''ig  '"to  a  convulsion.  William 
his  vagabond  life.  Was  it  not  said  there,  once,  <  ^^^^  alarmed,  and  hastened  to  her  support.  He 
that  he  was  dead?' 

•Only  for  a  day  or  two.     It  was  a  false  re^ 
port.' 


'i  could  not  help  it,  much  as  his  spirit  revolted  from 


her. 


'And  when  you  see  him — in  case  he  has  not^ 


'Y   a-t-il   quelque   chose  qu'on  peut  donner  h 


madame  pour  la  soulager!'  he  called  out  hastily 
had  that  packet-you  will  tell  him  this  that  I  am  \  ^^  ^^^  ^j^^^^^  j„  ^^^  ^^^^^ 

now  about  to  tell  you.'  |     The  woman  glided  in.    'Mais  oui,  monsieur- 

•What  is  its  nature?'  asked  William.  \  Madame  s'agite,  n'ebt-ce  pas?' 

'Will  you  promise  to  tel!  him  ?'  \     'Elite  s'agite  beaucoup.' 

'Not  until  I  first  hear  what  it  may  be,'  fear- j     The  sister  poured  some  drops  from  a  phial  into 

lessly  replied  William.    'Intrust  it  to  me,  if  you  '  a  wine-glass  of  water,  and  held  it  to  those  quiv- 

will,  and  1  will  keep  it  sacred:  but  I  must  use  my  •  ering   lips      'Si  vous  vous,  agitez  comme  cela, 

own  judgment  as  to  imparting  it  to  Herbert  Dare. )  madame,  c'est  pour  vous  tuer,  savez-vousr'  cried 

It  may  be  something  that  would  be  better  left  un-  { she. 

said.'  !     'I  fear  so,  too,  added  William  in  English  to  the 

'I  do  not  ask  you  to  keep  it  sacred,'  she  re-|invalid,     'It  would  be  better  for  me  not  to  hear 

joined.    'You  may  tell   it  to  the  world,  if  you /this,  than  for  you  to  put  yourself  into  this  state. 

please;  you  may  tell  it  to  your  wife:  you  may;      She  grew  calmer,  and  the  sister  quitted  them. 

tell  it  to  all  Helstonleigh.     But  not  until  lam    William  resumed  his  seat  as  before;  there   ap- 

dead.    Will  you  give  that  promise?'  ;  peared  to  be  no  help  for  it,  and  she  continued 

•That  I  will  readily  give  you.'  i  her  tale.' 

•On  your  honour?'  'I  not  agitate  myself  again,'  she  said.    'I  not 

William's  truthful  eyes  smiled  into  hers.    'On ;  tell  you  all  the  details,  or  what  1  suffered:  a  quoi 

my  honour— if  that  shall  better  satisfy  you.    It'  bon?    Pain  at  morning,  pain  at  mid -day,  pain  at 

was  not  necessary.'                                                 )  night;  I  think  my  heart  turned  dark,  and  it  has 
She  remained  silent  a  few  moments,  and  then  \  never  been  right  again '  ^ 

burst  forth  vehemently,  'When  you  see  him,  that  \     'Hush,  Mademoiselle  Varsini !    The  sister  will 


cochoDi  that  rautrien * 


hear  you-' 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


109 


•What  matter  ?    She  not  speak  English.'  ^ 

'I  really  cannot,  for  your  sake,  sit  here,  if  you| 
put  yourself  into  this  slaie,'  he  rejoined.  \ 

'You  must  sit;  you  must  listen !  You  have ' 
promised io  do  it,' s^he  answered.  ; 

'I  will,  if  you  will  be  rationally  calm.' 

•I'll  be  Calm,' she  rejoined,  the  check  having  J 
driven  back  the  rising  passion.  'The  worst  is'; 
told.  Or  rather,  I  do  not  tell  you  the  worst — < 
that  mauvais  Herbert !  Do  you  wonder  that  my  ! 
spirit  v^as  turned  to  revenger' 

Perceiving  somewhat  of  her  fierce  and  fiery  na- ' 
ture,  William  did  not  wonder  at  it.  •!  do  not: 
know  what  I  am  to  understand  yet, 'he  whispered./ 
•Did  i/OH^ — kill — Anthony?'  ■ 

She  leaned  back  on  her  pillow,  clasping  her! 
hands  before  her.  'Ah  me!  I  did!  Tell  him' 
Eo,'  she  continued  again  passionately;  tell  him  < 
that  1  killed  Anthony — thinking  it  was  him.'  j 

'It  is  a  dreadful  story  !'  shuddered  William.        '; 

'I  did  not  mean  it  to  be  so  dreadful,'  she  an-/ 
swered,  speaking  quite  equably.  'No,  1  did  not;! 
and  1  am  telling  you  as  true  as  though  it  were  my ; 
confession  before  receiving  the  6on  dt£i<.  I  only, 
meaiit  to  wound  him '  / 

•Herbert?'  <. 

•Herbert!     Of  course;  who  else  but  Herbert?'^ 
she   reloiied,  giving   token    of  another  relapse., 
•Flad  I  Cause  of  anger  against  that  pauvre  An- 
thony?    No,  no.     Anthony   was  sharp  with  the; 
rest  sometimes,  but  he  was  always  civil  to  me;  i  > 
never  bad  a  luisword  with  him.     I  not  like  Cyril;' 
but  I  not  dislibe  George   and  Anthony.     VVbyj^/ 
why,'  she  continued,   wringing   her  hands,  'did 
Anthony  come  forth  from  his  chamber  that  night 
and  go  out,  when  he  said  he  had  retired  to  it  for; 
good?    That  is  where  all  the  evil  arose.' 

'Not  all,'  dissented  William,  in  a  low  tone. 

'Yes,  all,' she  sharply  repeated.  '1  had  only 
meant  to  give  Mr.  [leiberC  a  little  prick  in  the; 
dark,  just  to  repay  him,  to  stop  his  pleasmit  visits 
to  that  field  for  a  term.  I  never  thought  to  kill 
him.  I  liked  him  better  than  that,  ill  as  ne  was 
behaving  to  me.  I  never  thought  to  kill  him;  I 
never  thought  much  to  hurt  him.  And  it  would 
not  have  hurt  Anthony,  but  that  he  was  what  you 
call  tipsy,  and  fell  on  the  point  of  the— —'  '< 

•Scissors?'  suggested  William,  for  she  had 
stopped.  How  could  he,  even  with  this  confes- 
sion before  him,  speak  to  a  lady — crone  who 
ought  to  have  been  a  lady— of  any  uglier 
weapon  ?' 

'I  had  something  by  me  sharper  than  scissors. 
ISut  never  you  mind  what.  That,  so  far,  doe^  not 
matter.  The  little  hurt  I  had  intended  fur  Her- 
bert he  escaped;  and  poor  Anthony  was  killed. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  William  broke  it, 
speaking  out  his  thoughts  impulsirely. 


•And  yet  you  went  to  Rotterdam  afterwards  to 
make  friends  wiiti  Herbert!' 

'When  he  write  and  tell  me  there  good  teach- 
ing in  the  )fl. ice.  could  1  know  it  was  untrue? 
Could  I  know  that  he  would  borrow  all  my  money 
from  me?  Could  I  know  that  he  turn  out  a 
worse ' 

'Mademoiselle,  I  pray  you,  be  calm.' 

•There,  then.  I  will  say  no  more.  1  haveout« 
lived  it.  But  I  wish  him  to  know  that  that  fine 
night's  work  was  liis.  It  was  the  right  man  who 
lay  in  prison  for  it.  The  letter  I  have  given  you 
may  never  reach  him;  and  I  ask  you  tell  him,  for 
his  pill,  should  it  not.' 

'Then  you  have  never  hinted  this  to  him?' 
asked  William. 

'Never.     1  was  afraid.     Will  you  tell  him?' 

•]  cannot  make  the  promise.  I  must  use  my 
own  discretion.  I  think  it  is  very  unlikely  that  I 
shall  ever  see  him.' 

'You  meet  people  that  you  do  not  look  for.  Un- 
til la.-t  Saturday,  you  might  have  said  it  was  un- 
likely that  you  would  meet  me.' 

•That  IS  true.' 

Now  that  the  excitement  of  the  disclosure  was 
over,  she  lay  back  in  a  grievous  state  of  exhaus- 
tion. William  rose  to  leave,  and  she  held  out 
herhand  to  him.  Could  he  shun  it— guilty  asshe 
had  confessed  herself  to  him?  No  Whowashe, 
that  he  should  set  himself  up  to  judge  her  ?  And 
she  was  dying  ! 

•Can  nothing  be  done  to  alleviate  your  suffer- 
ings?' he  inquired  in  a  kindly  tone. 

'Nothing.  The  sooner  death  comes  to  release 
me  from  them,  the  better.' 

He  lingered  yet,  hesitating.  Then  he  bent 
closer  to  her,  and  spoke  in  a  whisper. 

'Have  you  thought  much  of  that  other  life  ?  Of 
the  necessity  <>f  repentance — of  the  seeking  earn- 
estly the  pardon  of  God  ?' 

•That  is  your  Protestant  fashion/she  answered 
with  equanimity.  'I  hove  made  my  confeaeion 
to  a  priest,  and  he  has  given  me  absolution.  A 
good,  fat  old  man  he  was,  very  kind  to  me;  he 
saw  how  I  had  been  tossed  and  turned  about  in 
life.  He  will  bring  the  6on  Jteit  to  me  the  last 
thing,  and  cause  a  mass  to  be  said  for  my  soul.' 

•I  thought  I  had  heard  you  were  a  Protestant.' 

•I  was  either.  I  said  I  was  a  Protestant  to 
Madame  Dare.  But  the  Roman  Catholic  religion 
is  the  most  convenient  to  take  up  when  jou  are 
passing.  Your  priests  say  they  cannot  pardon 
sins.' 

The  interview  occupied  longer  in  acting  than 
it  has  in  telling,  and  William  returned  to  the  ho- 
tel to  find  Mary  tired,  wondering  at  his  abKence, 
and  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Ashley — which  you  havw 
been  favoured  with  the  sight  of— lying  on  the  ta- 
bic, awaiting  its  eoDclusioa. 


119  -         MRS.  HLLAiBU ETON'S  TROUBLES. 

•You  are  weary,  my  darling.  You  should  not  io  a  man's  hand,  two  boys  in  surplices  with 
have  remained  up.'  lighted  candles,  and  the  singing  priest  with  his 

'I  thought  you  were  never  coming,  William  1  ]  open  book.  Eight  men,  in  while  corded  hats  and 
thought  you  must  have  gone  olT  by  ^he  London ;  black  cloaks,  bore  the  coffin  on  a  bier,  and  there 
steamer,  and  left  me  here!  The  hotel  omnibus  i  was  a  sprinkling  ef  impromptu  followers— as 
took  some  passengers  to  it  at  ten  o'clock.''        .  \  there  always  is  to  these  foreign  funerals.    As  the 

William  sat  down  on  the  sofa,  and  drew  her  to 'dead  was  borne  past  him  on  its  way  to  the  ceme- 
him;  the  full  tide  of  thankfulness  going  up  from  ;  tery,  William,  following  the  usage  of  the  country, 
hisheartthatall  women  were  not  as  tlie  one  he  lifted  his  hat,  and  remained  uncovered  until  it. 
had  just  left.  jhadgoncby. 

'And  what  did  Mademoiselle  Varsini  want  with  ]     And  that  was  the  last  of  Bianca  Varsini. 
you,  William?    Is  she  really  dying?'  ; 

»I  think  she  is  djing.     You  must  not  ask  mej 
what  she  wanted,  Mary.    It  was  to  tell  me  some- / 

thing — to  speak  of  things  connected  with  herself;,  ♦•♦ 

and  the  Dares.    They  would  not  be  pleasant  to  i 
your  ears.'  ;; 

'But  1  have  been  writing  an  account  of  all  this/  CHAPTER  XXXII 

to  mamma,  and  have  left  her  letter  open,  to  send  j 

word  what  the  governess  could  have  to  say  tOj;r  ihe  downfall  of  the  d&hes. 

you.    What  can  1  tell  her.'  j  ,  .  .,..., 

'Tell  her  as  I  tell  you,  my  dearest:  that  whati  ly  ^^^  a  winter  s  morning,  and  the  family 
have  been  listening  to  is  more  fit  for  Mr.  Ash- J  Pfy  round  the  breakfast  table  at  Wilham  Hal- 
,     ,  ..       /•  _  v„„»  »  Miburton's  looked  a  cheery  one,  wnh  (heir  ad- 

ley's  ears  than  for  yours  or  hers.  •       ,      r  i   c  a         J  r  »»  j 

Mary  rose   and  wrote  rapidly  the  concluding  J  J^n^^ls  of  ^  good  fire  and  good  fare.     Mr    a^d 

lines.     William    stood    and  watched    her.     He  i  Mrs.  Ashley  and  Henry  were  guests.     And  I  can 

,     ,    .  ^,     ,  ,  'tell  you  that  m   Mr.  Ashley  they  were  entertain- 

laughed  at  the 'smear.'  '•  i  ,k       .u     i,-  u    u     •«•   r 

.f  . /■       i-       „,;»!,  «»^  r,oTir  mmp  vpt  •  I    ing  HO  Icss  a  personagc  than  the  high  sheriff  of 

'I  am  not  familiar  with  my  new  name  yei,  i>     »  ^  ^  => 

,  M  A  ui       )f  t  ;  the  county, 

was  signing  "Mary  Ashley."  mu  ♦,  •     .  j    r        u     -o-     *u  . 

.T,     ■  .  w     It     .k«  ^1-1  r.«,v.o    ;f  vnii  '     The   gentlemen   nominated   for  sherins,   that 

•Would  you  go  back  to  the  old  name,  if  you  ^  &  <•  u  ,  .     ,  •  u      u 

..  ,    ^  .,  'year,for  the  county  of  Helstonleigh,  wh<se  names 

could.'"  cued  he,  somewhat  saucily.  iu  ^  .    ,v.    r>  V  n 

1^  /had  gone  up  to  the  Queen,  were  as  follows  : 

'    .  J        •     *v,    J...  4ho»«o,.o  ^     Humphrey    Coldicott,~  Esquire,    of   Coldicott 

Saturday  came  round  again:  the  day  they  were  !  ^      ^  >        i       » 

to  leave— iust  a  week  since  they  came,  bince  the  /     ...  V         iv*        ti    ^       r  .v.    r        % 

•^                J                     ,       rriu             ^  «„ir;r,n.  .,r.  Sir  Harry  Marr,  Bart. ,  of  the  Lvnch  J 

encounter  in   the   park..   They  were  taking  an  \  ^^       v      ■         r  r»     «•       u  n 

.     .        .             1    .       u       -.„,,„;„  i«..,  Thomas  Ashley,  Esquire,  of  Deoffam  Hall; 

early    walk    in    the   market,  when  certain  low  ,,   •    / V  A           .        a,        ■  i\x 

.            r    u       .    „   o,^,,^ir  .,r.nn  thpir  Pirs  And  Her  Majesty  had  been  pleased  to  prick  the 

sounds,  as  of  chauntuig,  struck  upon  ineir  cars.  j      j                    «-                  »- 

A  funeral  was  coming  along;  it  had  just  turned  ]  '^"<'''  "ame. 

.   .  .    ,      ^v,  ^F  at   v\r,i  nt  flip  nthpp'     Tne  gate  of  the  garden  swung  open,  and  some 

out  of  the  great  church  of  fet.  Lloi,  at  Uie  oiner  ,  ...  .   .u  i       .u  .     .u 

i-    u     r>i  Tw^f  «   ««<.iihv  f.mpral-   ofe  came  hastily  round   the  gravel  path  to  the 

corner  of  the  Place.     Not  a  wealthy  lunerai—  J  .  j    *  .u    u     j    <..u 

quite  the  other  thing.  On  the  previous  day  they  ^^'ou^e.  Mary  who  was  seated  at  the  head  of  he 
had  seen  a  grand  interment,  attended  by  its  dis-  jtable,  facing  the  window,  caught  a  view  of  the 
tinguishing   marks;   seven  or  eight   banners,  as  jvisUor  ^are  "  she  exclaimed 

many  priests.     Some   sudden   feeling   prompted  |        t  is  Mis.  Dare,    she  exclaimed. 

,,,,,•  .  1  u  <-„.«>.,»i  ihi.  wfjB  nnrthp^  'Mrs  Dare !' repeated  Mr.  Ashley,  as  a  peal  at 
Wi  ham  to  ask  whose  funeral  this  was,  ana  ne  /  ^    ^    ,,  ^  ,,         j      ,      ^.^  ■"   ..,/,, 

J     u    •       •       f„.K,.r^b..pnpr  u'howaq  stand-   the  hall-bell  was  heard.    'Nonsense,  child  !' 
made  the  inquiry  of  a  shopkeeper,  w  no  was  siana-;:  ..,.., 

^,        ,  /     'Papa,  indeed  it  IS.' 

ing  at  her  door.  /       ,   ,  .   ,  .  u       •  .  i        n»        »       j  u 

*"  .  „        /.         «       ^     'I  think  you  must  be  mistaken,  Mary,' said  her 

'Monsieur,  c'estl'enterrementdune6trangere..j^^^^^^j  ^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^^^^^  scarcely  be  abroad 
Une  Italienne  Ion  dit:  Madame  Varsmi.  '.^  ^^.^  ^^^^^  ^^^^, 

•Oh,  William  !  do  they  bury  her  already."  was  i     .^^^  ^^^  disbelievers  all !'  laughed  Mary.     'As 
the  shocked  remonstrance  of  Mary.  'It  was  only  ^  .j.  j  ^^^  ^^^  ^^^^  ^^^    j)^^^ ,    gj^^  ^^^  loolfing 
yesterday  at  mid-day  the  sister  came  to  you  to  say  ?  ^^^^^^  ^^^  flurried. ' 
she  had  died.     What  a  shame!'  ;     Mrs.  Dare,  looking  indeed  scared  and  flurried, 

'Hush,  love!  Many  of  the  people  here  under- 1  g^jne  into  the  breakfast  parlour.  The  servant 
stand  English.  They  bury  quickly  in  these  coun- ;  haj  been  showing  her  into  another  room,  but  she 
tries.'  ^put  him  aside,  and  appeared  amidst  them. 

They  stood  on  the  pavement,  and  the  funeral  i  What  brought  her  there.'  What  had  she  come 
came  quickly  on .    On«  black  banner  borne  aloft  |  to  tell  them  ?    Alas !  of  their  unhappy  downfall . 


MitS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


Ill 


How  the  Dares  had  contrived  to  go  on  so  long, 
without  the  crrfsh  coming,  they  alone  knew.  They 
had  promised  to  pay  here,  they  had  promised  to 
pay  there;  and   pt-ople,   tradespeople  especially, 
did  not  much  like  to  begin  compulsory  measures 
to  old  Anthony  Dare,  he  who   had  lor  so  long 
swayed  his   sway  in   Helstonleigh.     His  profes- 
sional business  had  almost  entirely  left  him — per- 
haps becituse  (here  was  no  etlicit-nt  head  to  carry 
it  on.     Cyril   was  just   what  Mademoiselle  had 
called  [Herbert,  a  vagabond;  and  Cyril  was  an  ir- 
retrievable one.     No  good  to  the  business  was  he 
—not  half  as  much  good  as  he  was  to  the  public- 
houses.     Mr.    Dare,  with    wiiile   hair,  stooping 
form,  and  dim  eyes,  would  go  creeping  to  his  of- 
fice most  da)s;  but  his  memory  was  leaving  him. 
and  it  Mas  evident  to  all    that  he  was  reiapsin. 
into  his  second  childhood.  Lalleily  they  had  lived 
entirely  by  privately  disponing  of  their   portabii 
efiects — as  Honey  Fair  used  to  do  when  ilfelloui 
of  wuik.     They  owed   moiiC)  everywhere;  rerit. 
taxes,  servants'  wages,  large  debts,  small  debts — 
it  was  universal.     And  now  the  landlord  had  pui 
ill  his  claim  after  the  manner  of  landlords,  and  i 
had  brought  on  the  climax.     They  were  lilerailx 
without  resource;  they  knew  not  whtre  to  turn, 
they  had  not  a  peony  piece,  or  the  worth  of  it,ii 
the  wide  woild.     Mrs.  Dure,  in  the  alarm  occa 
sioricd   Liy  the  unwelcome  visitoi — for  the  land 
lord's  man  had  made  good  his enlrimce  that  morn 
ing — came  flying  clT' to  Mr.  Ashley,  some  extrav 
agant  hope  floating  in  her  mind  that  help  might 
be  obtained  from  him. 

'Here's  trouhle !  Here's  trouble i'  she  ex 
claimed  by  way  of  salutation,  wringing  her  hancl^ 
frantically. 

Tkey  rose  in  consternation,  believing  she  musi 
hnve  gone  wild.     Willinm  handed  her  a  chair. 

'Theie,  don 'I  come  round  me,' she  cried,  as  shi 
Hung  tierscif  into  il.  'Go  on  with  your  break- 
fast. 1  have  concealed  our  troubles  until  I  am 
heart-sick,  and  now  they  can  be  concealed  no 
longer,  and  I  have  come  for  help  to  you.  Don'i 
press  anything  upon  me,  Mrs.  William  Hallibur- 
ton; lo  allempl  to  eat  wculd  choke  me  !' 

aho  sat  there  and  ciitsrcd  on  her  grievances. 
How  ihey  had  long  been  without  money,  had 
lived  l«y  credit,  and  l^y  pledging  things  out  ol 
their  house;  how  they  oAtd  more  than  she  could 
tell;  how  Ifiat  a  'horrible  man'  had  come  into 
their  hoUT  that  m<.Tiiin^,  an  emiisary  of  tlie 
landloid. 

'Whii!  ;tic-  AC  to  do"*  f-hc  wailed.  'Will  j('U 
help  iisr  .Mr.  <i»nlej,  wjll  you.' — your  w.Io  i» 
my  hu't  and  3  ct.usin,  you  know.  Mr.  |!allibur- 
lou,  will  you  help  us.'  Don't  you  knoA*  thai  1 
have  I.  right  to  claim  kindred  with  jrou !     Your 


father  and  I  were  first  cousins,  and  lived  for  some 
time  und'T  the  same  roof.' 

William  rememher»^d  the  former  years  when 
she  had  not  been  so  ready  to  own  the  relation- 
ship. He  remembered  the  day  when  Mr.  Dare 
had  put  a  seizure  into  their  house,  and  his  mother 
had  gone,  craving  grace  of  him.  Mr.  Ashley  re- 
membered it,  and  his  eye  met  William's.  How 
marvellously  had  the  change  been  brought  round  ! 
the  right  come  to  light! 

'What  is  it  that  you  wish  me  to  do  ."  inquired 
Mr.  Ashley.     '1  do  not  understand.' 

'Xot  understand  !'  she  sharply  echoed,  in  her 
»rief.  'I  want  the  landlord  paid  out.  You  have 
ample  means  at  command,  Mr.  Ashley,  and  might 
do  this  much  for  us.' 

A  modest  request,  certainly  !  The  rent  due  was 
for  tnree  years — considerably  more  than  two  him- 
Ired  pounds      Mr.  Ashley  re[)lied  to  it  quietly. 

•A  raomenl's  reflection  might  convince  you, 
Mrs.  Dare,  that  the  paying  of  this  money  would 
De  fruitless  waste.  The  instant  this  procedure 
icts  wind — and  in  all  probability  it  has  already 
lone  so — other  claims,  as  pressing,  will  be  en- 
I'oiced.' 

'Tradespeople  must  wait,'  she  answered,  with 
Tritation. 

'Wait  for  what.?'  asked  Mr.  Ashley;  'do  you 
xpect  to  drop  into  a  fortune  i' 

Wait  for  what,  indeed!  For  complete  ruin.' 
There  was  nothing  else  to  wait  for.  Mrs.  Dare 
sat  beating  her  foot  against  the  car|)et. 

'Mr.  Dare  has  grown  useless,' she  said.  'What 
ie  says  one  minute,  he  forgets  the  next;  he  is 
learly  in  a  state  of  imbecility.  I  have  no  one  to 
lurn  to,  no  one  to  consult  with,  and  therefore  I 
come  lo  you      Indeed,  you  must  help  me.' 

'But  1  do  not  lee  what  1  can  do  for  you,'  re- 
joined Mr.  Ashley.  'As  to  paying  your  debts — 
it  is — it  is — in  fact,  it  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  I 
nave  my  own  payments  to  make,  my  expenses  to 
Keep  up.     I  could  not  do  it,  Mrs.  Dare. ' 

She  paused  again,  playing  nervously  with  her 
bonnet  strings. 

•Will  you  go  back  with  me,  and  see  what  you 
can  make  q{  Mr.  Dare.'  Perhaps  between  you 
something  to  be  done  may  be  fixed  upon.  I  don't 
understand   things.' 

'I  cannot  go  back  with  you,'  replied  Mr.  Ash- 
Icy.  'I  must  attend  the  meeting  which  takes  place 
th>s  morning  in  the  Guildhall.' 

•In  your  oflicial  capacity,' remarked  Mrs.  Dare, 
in  not  at  all  a  pleasant  tone  of  voice.  '1  forgot 
that  you  preside  at  it.  Hyw  very  grand  you  have 
iiecome!' 

'Very  grand,  indeed.  I  think,  ron'idtring  the 
low  estimation  in  which  you  held  the  glove  mao- 
ufaclurtr,  Thomaa  Atbley,' be  anf^crrd,  witba 


U2 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROBBLES. 


good-huhioured  laugh.    'I  will  call  upon  your^ 

husband  in  the  course  of  the  day,  Mrs,  Dare.'       ) 

She  turned  to  Williaca.  / 

'Will  you  return  with  me?  I  have  a  claim  upon  ' 

you,' she  reiterated  eagerly.  ; 

He  shook  his  head.  I 

'I  accompany  Mr.  Ashley  to  the  meeting.'         .' 

She  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied,  turned  abruptly,  '■ 

and  left  the  room,  William  attending  her  to  the  > 

door.  •  > 

•What  d'ye  call  that  r'  asked  Henry,  lifting  his  / 

voice  for  tlie  first  time.  < 

•Call  it  ?'  repeated  his  sister. 
'Yea,   Mrs. ,  Mary,  call  it.    Cheek,  I  should  ;; 
say  ' 


•Hush,  Henry,' said  Mr.  Ashley.  ', 

'Very  well,  sir.  It's  cheek  all  the  same,/ 
though.'  I 

As  Mr.  Ashley  surmised,  the  misfortune  had; 
already  got  wind,  and  the  unhapjiy  Dares  were, 
besieged  in  their  huuse  that  day  by  clamorous  ; 
creditors.  When  Mr.  Ashley  and  William  ar. ; 
rived  there,  fur  they  walked  up  at  the  conclusion  | 
of  the  public  meeting,  they  found  Mr.  Dare  j 
seated  alone  in  the  duiing-ioom;  that  sad  dining- j 
roam  which  had  witnessed  the  tragical  end  ol  | 
Anthony.  He  cowered  over  the  fire,  his  thin  | 
hands  stretched  out  to  the  blaze.  He  was  not  al- 1 
together  childish — but  his  memory  failed,  and  he  | 
was  apt  to  fdll  into  fits  of  wandenng.i  Mr  | 
Ashley  drew  forward  a  chair,  and  sat  down  by  > 
him.  '  I 

•1  fear  things  do  not  look  very  bright,'  heob-< 
served.  •We  called  in  at  your  office  as  we  came< 
by,  and  found  a  seizure  was  also  put  in  there.'       ' 

•There's  nothing  much  for  'em  to  take  but  tl  l  \ 
desks,'  returned  old  Anthony.  j 

'Mrs.  Dare  wished  me  to  come  and  talk  mat  < 
ters  over  with  you,  to  see  whether  anything  couU  \ 
be  done.  She  does  not  understand  them,  sh.  ] 
said.'  i 

'What  can  be  done — when  things  come  tosuci  ' 
a  pass  as  this?'  returned  Anthony  Dare,  lifting!  > 
his  head  sharply.  'That's  just  like  women — ^ 
"seeing  what's  to  be  done!"  I  am  beset  on  al  / 
sides.  If  the  bank  sent  me  a  present  of  three  oi  l 
four  thousand  pounds,  we  might  get  on  again  J 
But  it  won't,  you  know.  The  things  must  go — I 
and  we  must  go.  I  suppose  thej'Jl  put  meiiw 
prison;  they'll  get  nothing  by  doing  it '  '/ 

He  leaned  forward  and  resltd  his  chin  on  hi-j 
stick,  which  was  suelchtd  out  before  him  b>  j 
usual.  Prc^eiiliy  he  resumed,  his  eyes  and  word^ '/ 
alike  wandering: 

'He  said  the  money  would  not  bring  us  good  i  ^ 
we  kept  it.  And  it  has  not;  it  has  brought  o  i 
curse.     I  have  told  Julia  so  twenty  times  since > 


Anthony  went.    Only  the  half  of  it  wa«  ours, 
you  know,  and  we  took  the  whole.' 

'What  money."  asked  Mr.  Ashley,  wondering 
what  he  was  saying. 

'Old  Cooper's.  We  were  at  Birmingham  when 
he  died,  I  and  Julia.  The  will  left  it  all  to  her, 
but  he  charged  us ' 

Mr.  Dare  suddenly  stopped.  His  eye  had  fallen 
on  William.  In  these  fits  of  wandering  he  lost 
his  memory  partially,  and  mixed  things  and  peo- 
ple together,  in  the  most  inextricable  confu- 
sion. 

'Are  you  Edgar  Halliburton?'  he  went  on. 

'I  am  his  son.  Do  you  not  remember  me,  Mr. 
Dare." 

'Ay,  ay.  Your  son-in-law,' ntfdding  to  Mr  Ash- 
ley. 'But  Cyril  was  to  have  had  that  place,  you 
know.     He  was  to  have  been  your  partner.' 

Mr.  Ashley  made  no  reply.  It  might  not  have 
been  understood.  And  Mr.  Dare  resumed,  con- 
founding William  with  his  father. 

'It  was  hers  in  the  will,  you  know,  Edgar,  and- 
that's  some  excuse,  for  we  had  lo  prove  it.  There 
was  not  time  to  alter  the  will,  but  he  said  it  was 
an  unjust  one,  and  charged  us  to  divide  the 
money,  half  for  us,  half  for  you;  to  divide  it  to 
the  last  halfpenny.  And  we  took  it  all.  We  did 
not  mean  to  take  it,  or  to  cheat  you,  but  somehow 
the  money  went;  our  expenses  were  great,  and 
we  had  heavy  debts,  and  when  you  came  after- 
wards to  Helsionleigh  and  died,  your  share  was 
already  broken  into,  and  it  was  too  late.  Ill-got- 
ten money  brings  nothing  but  a  curse,  and  that 
money  brought  it  to  us.  Will  you  shake  hands 
and  forgive?' 

'Heartily,*  replied  William,  taking  bis  wasted 
hand. 

'But  you  had  to  struggle,  and  the  money  would 
nave  kept  struggle  from  you.  It  was  many  thou- 
ands.' 

'Who  knows  whether  it  would  or  not?'  cheer- 
ily answered  William.  'Had  we  possessed  money 
to  fail  back  upon,  we  might  not  have  struggled 
with  a  will;  we  might  not  have  put  out  all  the 
exertion  that  was  in  us,  and  then  we  should  never 
'lave  got  on  as  we  have  done.' 

'Ay;  got  on.     You  are  looked  up  to  now;  you 
have  become  gentlemen.   And  what  are  my  boys?  ' 
The  money  was  yours.'  | 

'Dismiss  it  entirely  from  your  regret,  Mr.  ] 
Dare,'  was  the  answer  of  William,  given  in  true 
•ompassion.  'I  believe  that  our  not  having  had 
ii  may  have  been  a  benefit  to  us  in  the  long  run, 
raiher  than  a  detriment.  The  utter  want  of 
money  may  have  been  the  secret  of  our  suc- 
■css  ' 

'Ay,'  nodded  old  Dare.  'My  boys  should  have 
been  taught  to  work,  and  they  were  oaly  taught; 


M»S.  flALLlBCRTON'S  TROffSLflS. 


113 


to  spend.     We  must  have  our  luxuriee  in-doors,    cannot  get  teaching,  they  may  fltiil  •«m0  other 
forsooih,  and  our  show  without;  our  servants  and    employment.     Work  of  some  hott.' 
our  carriages,  and  our  confounded  pride.    What        "Work  !  shrieked  Mrs.   Dare.     'My  daughters 
has  it  ended  in  ?'  j  work  !' 

What  had  it !  They  made  no  answer.  Mr.  Dare  i  'Indeed ,  I  don't  know  what  else  is  to  he  done, ' 
remained  still  for  a  while,  and  then  lified  his  J  he  answered.  'Their  education  has  been  good, 
haggard  face,  and  spoke  in  a  whisper,  a  shrinking  |  and  1  should  think  they  may  obtain  daily  leacl.- 
diead  in  his  face  and  tone.  )  ing;  perhaps   sufficient  to    enable    >ou    to    livu 

•They  have  been  nothing  but  my  cursei.  It;  quietly.  1  will  pay  for  a  lodging  for  you,  an  1 
was  throng  fi  Hi-rbert  that  she,  that  wicked  for- |  give  you  a  trifle  towards  housekeeping,  until  yoL; 
cign  woman,  murdered  Anthony.'  j  can  turn  yourselves  round.' 

Did  hf!  know  of  that  ?  How  had  the  knowledge  |  'I  wish  we  were  all  dead  !'  was  the  response  oi" 
come  to  him?    William  had  not  betrayed  it,  save;  Mrs.  Dare. 

to  Mr.  Asiil«y.aiid  Henry.  And  ihcy  had  buried  i  Mr.  Ashley  went  a  little  nearer  to  her.  'Wh.!! 
the  dreaflful  secret  down  deep  in  the  archives  ol  '  is  this  story  your  husband  has  been  telling  abou. 
their  breasts.  Mr.  Dare's  next  words  disclosed  '  the  misappropriation  of  tiie  money  that  Mr 
the  puzzle.  Cooper  desired  should  be  handed  to  Edgar  Halli- 

•She  died,  that  woman.  And  she  wrote  to  Her-  t>urton  r' 
bert  on  her  death-bed,  and  made  a  confession.  1  She  clapped  her  hands  upon  her  face  with  e 
He  sent  a  part  of  it  on  here,  lest,  I  siippi-se,  we  j  low  cry.  'Has  he  been  bctrajing  thai  ?  What 
might  be  for  doubting  him  slill.  But  his  conduct  \  will  become  of  us  ? — what  shall  we  do  with  him  i 
led  to  it.  It  is  dreadful  to  have  tuch  sons  as  j  If  ever  a  family  was  beaten  down  by  fate,  it  Is 
mine !'  ours.' 

His  stick  fell  to  the  ground.  Mr.  Ashley  laid!.  Not  by  gratuitous  fate,  thought  Mr.  Ashley, 
bold  of  him,  while  William   picked   it  up.     He  \  'ts  own  misdoings  have  brought  the  fate  upon  it. 


•Where  is  Cynlf  he  a-ked  aloud.     'He  ought  to 
bestir  himself  to  help  you,  now.' 

•C^ril !' echoed  Mrs  Dare,  a  bitter  bcowI  ri«ing 
to  her  face.  *IIe  help  us!  You  know  what  Cy- 
ril is.' 

As  thry  went  out,  they  met  Cyril.  What  a 
contrasl  the  two  cousins  presented  side  by  side'. 
— he  and  Wiliiam   might   be  call«.-d  Huch.     The 


was  gasping  for  breath. 

•You  arc  not  well,'  cried  Mr.  Ashley. 

•No — I  think  I  am  going.  One  can't  stand 
these  repeated  ^hocks.  Did  1  see  EJgar  Hiilli- 
burton  heie.'  I  thought  he  was  dead.  Ih  he  come 
for  his  money  ?'  he  continued  in  a  shivering  whis- 
per. 'VVe  acted  accoiding  to  the  will,  sir;  accord- 
ing to  the  will,  tell  him.  He  can  >-ee  it  in  Doc- 
tors' Commons.  He  can 'l  proceed  against  u> — |  one— fine,  noble,  intellectual;  his  countenance 
he  has  no  proof— let  him  go  and  look  at  the  j  setiinii  forth  its  own  truth,  candour,  honour;  mak- 
^ill  •  iiig  the  best,  in  liis  walk  of  life,  of  the  lalfiitnen- 

•We  had  better  leave  him,  William,'  mur- 1  ''""•''*•''  l"  ^''">  by  God.  The  oiher— slouching, 
mured  Mr.  Ashley.  Our  presence  onl>  exciies  |  «1'''.V.  all  but  ragged;  his  oflensive  domgs  fhown 
hjm  '  too  plainly  in  his   bloated    face,  his  red  c^es,  hit 

In  the  opposite  room  sat  Mrs  Dare.  Adelaide  unsavoury  breath:  leiling  his  talents  and  his  days 
passed  Kill  of  it  as  ihey  entered.  Never  befor-  |  run  to  worse  than  waste;  a  burden  to  l.i-iiself  ard 
had  they  remaihel  how  sadly  worn  and  faded  she  '  i'»  those  around  hint.  .A'd  Tcl,  i'l  Ihkir  boyhood's 
looked  Her  later  life  had  been  spent  in  pining  days.  h<i*v  great  h:id  been  Cjril'n  advantages  over 
after  the  chame   of  greatness    she   had  |(,i.t,  in  '  Willijin  HaMburton's ! 

missing  the  Viscount  Ha«kesley,  lircvocabi}  ■  They  walked  away  atm-in-arm.  William  and 
'est  t,o  her;  for  the  daughter  of  a  neighbouring  \  Mr.  Ashley.  A  short  risii  to  the  manufactory  in 
earl  now  called  him  husband.  They  sal  down  by  '  |)a«-sing,  arid  then  they  continued  their  way  home, 
Mrs.  Dare,  but  could  only  condole  with  her; 'taking  it  purpo*ely  through  Honey  Fair. 
nothing  but  the  most  irretrievable  ruin  was;  Honey  Fair!  Could  that  be  Honey  Fair.' 
around  Honey  Fair  used  to  bo  an  unsightly  and  unodorif 

•We  shall  be  turned  from  here.'  she  wailed  ;  «rous  place,  where  the  mud,  the  parbsge.and  the 
•How  are  we  to  find  a  home-to  get  a  livirg  f       j  ,.h.|d,rn  r.n  riot  toirelhcr;  a  species,  in  short,  of 

•Your  daughters  must  do  i-ornething  to  assist  j  ,.„p,cit)U«  pigoy.  Dot  I. n.k  at  it  now  The  paths 
you,'  <eplie.l  .VIr.  A-hley.     'Teaching,  or '       (  ,r«  i.ire  and  wt- II  kept,  the  ro.id  clean  and  cared 

Teaching!  in  this  overdone  plafce!'  she  inter- / 'or.  Her  Mhj«-»I)'«  »iate  coach-»nd  <  igM  might 
rupted.  Irnc  down,  ;<nd    lie  hor-es  not  have  to  tread  |in- 

'It  hai  been  somewhat   overdone  in  that  way, )  gerly.     The  houses  are  the  »Bme;  small  and  large 
•wiainl/,  of  late  years/ iie  antwered.    'If  tfaejl  they  bear  eridcM*  of  earepof  (brirt,  gf  a  retpvcC 
15 


Hi 


MRS.  HALLIBUflTON'S  TROffBLlWl. 


able  clai«  of  inmate*.      The  windows    are  no  <  Mason.     Caroline  wa»  serTant  to  Charlotte  now, 
lonKcr  siufiitd  with  rags,  or  the   palings  broken,     and  that  was  Charlotte's  baby,  for  Charlotte  wai 
And  that  little  essay — the  a^senlbllllg  at  Robert  <.  no  longer  Charlotte  East,  but  Mri.  Thornejcroft. 
East's,  and  William  Halliburton— had  led  to  the    She  curtsied  as.  they  came  up. 
change.  (      'Good    afleinoon,    gentiemert.     1    have    been 

The  men  and  women  had  been  awakened  to  |  round  to  the  rooms  to  show  iheoi  bow  to  arrange 
»elf-re»pect;  to  the  obligation  of  striving  to  live  '  the  eveigreens.  1  hope  they  will  have  a  pltasaut 
well  and  to  do  well;  to  thn  solemn  tii'Ught  that  |  evening  !' 

there  is  another  world  af.er  inis,  where  their  j  ''l"hey!'  echoed  Mr.  Ashley.  'Are  you  not 
works,  good  or  bad,  woiJd  follow   ihem.     Tdey  i  coming  yourself .>' 

had  karned  to  reflect  itiat  it  mighl  be  possible  j  'I  ihiirk  not,  sir.  Adam  and  Robert  will  be 
that  one  phase  of  a  lost  soul's  punishment  after  j  there,  of  course,  but  I  can't  well  leave  the  baby.' 
.death,  will  lie  in  remembering  the  dutie?  it  ought  !  'Nonseuse,  Charlotte!'  exclaimed  William, 
to  have  pei  foroK  d  in  life.  Ttiey  knew,  without  \  'What  harm  will  the  baby  take?  Are  you  afraid 
any  «  ttort  of  r»  flcrli*)n,  that  ii  is  a  (cmembraiice  >  of  ils  running  away  .'' 

whicii  makes  the  >ting  of  many  a  deathbed,  f'or-  j  'Ah,  sir,  you  don't  unda'stand  babins  yet.' 
merly.  Honey  Fair  had  believed  (ihose  who;  'That  has  to  come,' laughed  Mr.  Ash  ey. 
thought  about  it.)  that  their  duties  lu  this  world  !  'i  understand  enough  of  babies  to  pronounce 
and  any  duties  whicn  lay  in  preparing  for  the  •  that  one  a  most  exacting  baby,  if  you  can't  leave 
next,  were  as  wide  apart  <is  the  two  poles.  Of;  it  for  an  hour  or  two,' persisted  William.  'You 
that  they  had  now  learned  Ine  faMacy.  Honey  !  must  come,  Cnarlotle.  My  wife  intends  to  be 
Fair  hiid  grown  serene.    Children  were  taken  out  J  there.' 

of  the  streets  to  be  sent  to  school;  the  Messrs.  j  « Well,  sir— I  know  I  should  like  it  Perhapa  I 
Baiike.s  had  been  discarded,  for  the  women  had  (can  manage  to  run  round  for  an  hour,  leaving 
grown  wiser;  and,  for  all  the  custom  the   Horned    Caroline  to  listen.' 

Ram'  obtained  from  Honey  Fair,  it  might  have  'How  does  Caroline  go  on  .''  inquired  Mr.  Aah- 
shut  itself  up      In  short,  Hone.v  Fair  had  been    ley. 

awakened,  speaking  in  a  moderate  point  of  view,  j  'tfir,  there  never  was  a  better  young  woman 
to  enlightenment;  to  the  social  improvements  of!  vt-ent  into  a  house.  That  was  a  dieadfui  lesson 
an  improving  and  a  thinking  age.  ;  to  her,  and  it  has  taught  her  what  nothing  else 

This  was  a  grand  day  with  Honey  Fair,  as  Mr.    could.     I  beiiere  that  Honey  Fair  will  respect 
Ashley  and  William  knew,  wiien   they  turned  to  ;  her  in  time.'-. 

walk  through  it.  Mr.  Ashley  hsd  purchased  that  .^^  ^^.^.^^  .^^  ^^^^  ^j^^^^  ^^.^  ^^^^j^  ^^^  ^^ 
building  you  have  heard  of,  for  a  comparative  |  ^^.^^  ^^,.  ^_^^  ^^  j^,  ^^^  ^^  ^^^p^^^  j,^^  ^,,^^,  ^^, 
trifle,  and  made  Honey  Fair  a  present  of  it  It  ■  ^^^^^^  Wiiliam.  'Once  a  faUe  step  is  taken,  it 
was  very  useful.  It  did  for  their  schools,  their  <  ;,  ^^,y  ^,^^1,  the  fashion  to  go  tripping  over 
pight  meetings,  their  provident  clubs;  and  to- j  ^^^^^.^  Caroline,  on  the  contrary,  ha»  been  using 
night  a  treat  was  to  be  held  in  it  The  men  ex-  j  3,,  j,^^  p^^^r  endeavour,  evar  since  te  retrieve 
pected  that  Mr.  Ashley  would  look  in,  and  Henry  |  ^^^^  first.' 

Ashley  had  sent  round  his -chemical  apparatus!      ,,         ,.       ^     ■  u       i.  ..  *  .      -j  ni, 

.  ■^    .  .        .  .   .    _,  L.       L.  <      «1  could  not  wish  a  better  servant,' said  Char^ 

to  give  them  some  experimeiits,  and  had  bought 

a  great  magic  lantern.  The  place  was  noA'  called  ; 
the  'Ashley  Institute.'     Some  thought — .Mr   Ash- 
ley   did — that   the  'Halliburton    Institute'  would 
have  been  more  consonant  to  fact;  but  William 
had  resolutely  withstood  it.    The  piece  of  waste 


land  behind  it  had   been  converted  into  a  sort  of 
playground  and  garden.     The  children  were  not  J 


I  lotte.  'Of  course,  I  could  not  keep  a  servant  for 
huusewoik  alone,  and  Caroline  nearly  earns  her 
food  helping  me  at  the  glovts.  I  am  pleased, 
and  she  is  grateful.  Yes,  kir,  it  is  as  you  say — 
Honey  Fair  ought  to  respect  her.  It  will  come 
in  time.' 


•As  most  good  things  do,  that  are  striven  for 
watched" "in  iV incessantly,  and  screamed  aVier-  \  '^  ^^e  right  way,'  remarked  Mr.  Ashley. 
•You'll  destroy  those  flowers  !'  'You'll  break  that  j 

window  !'  'You  are  tearing  up  the  young  shrubs  !' ;  ,  -  ^,» 

No;  they  were   made   to   undcrstai.d    that  they> 

were  trusted  not  to  do  these  things;  and  they  took  ■' 

the  trust  to  themselves,  and  were   proud  of  it./  CHAPTER  XXXIIT, 

Believe  me,  you  may  train  a  chdd  to  do  -this,  if  j 

you  will.  '  '/ 

As  they  passed  the  houHR  of  Charlotte  Ea<:<,  she,  Okce  more,  in  this,  the  nearly  concluding 
was  turning  in  at  the  gariJen  g;iit;  and,  slundinj} ,  chapter  of  the  history,  are  we  obliged  to  take 
at  tbe  window,  dandiins  a  baby,  was  Caroline  <  notice  of  assiiie  Saturday.    Oace  meie  h^d  the 


ASSIZE    TIME. 


Itlia.  HALUBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


Ill 


high  sherifTs  procession  gone  out  to  receive  the  -;niust  understand  that  they  arc  the  workmen  bo- 
judgts;  and  nevi-r  had   the  cathedial  bells  run^r '/ l^igin^^  to  my  manufactory.' 
out  more  clearly,  never  had  the  streets  and  win-^     Bit  his  eyes  were  dim  as  he  leaned  forward 
dows  been  so  crowded.  :|  and  acknowledged   the  greeting.     Such  a  shout 

A  blast,  shrill  and  loud,  from  the  advancing  '  followed  upon  it!  The  judges,  used  to  shouting 
heralds,  was  borne  on  the  air  of  the  bright  Match  ,  «s  they  were,  had  rarely  heard  the  like,  so  deep 
afternoon,  as    the   cavalcade  advanced   up  East  '  aNdJieartlelt. 

Street  The  javelin-men  rode  next,  two  abreast,  /  'There's  genuine  good  ft-eling  in  that  cheer,' 
in  the  plain  dark  Ashley  livery,  the  points  of  thei;  :|*'iiiiJ  Sir  William  Leader.  'I  like  to  hear  it.  It 
javelins  glittering  in  the  sutishine,  harOly  able  to;  '*  more  than  lip  deep.' 

advance  tor  the  crowd.  Little  cared  they  to-day  !  The  dinner  parly  for  the  jui^ges  that  night  wm 
for  the  proud  trumpets,  for  the  javelin-bearers, ',  S'^t^n  ^^t  the  deanery.  Not  a  more  honoured  guest 
for  the  various  attractions  that  made  their  delight  ^ ''ad  ft  than  the  high  sheriff.  His  chaplain  was 
on  other  of  these  days;  they  cared  but  for  thai ',  ^'''ih  him,  and  William  and  Frank  were  also 
•tately  equipage  in  the  rear.  Not  for  its  foui  ,'S?"e&t3.  What  did  the  Dares  think  of  the  Halli- 
praiicirig  horses,  for  its  shining  silver  ornaments.  ^  burtons  now  i  * 

for  list  portly  coachman  on  the  hammer-cloth, not )  The  Dares,  just  then,  were  too  much  occupied 
even  for  the  very  judges  themselves;  but  for  the  )'  with  their  own  concerns  to  think  of  them  at  all. 
master  of  that  carriage,  the  high  gherifl",  Thomas' They  were  planning  how  to  get  to  Australia. 
Ashley.  j  Their  daughter,  Julia,   more  dutiful  than  soma 

He  sat  in  it,  its  only  plainly  attired  inmate.  | '^""K^^'e- 8  might  prove  Ihcmsclvts,  had  offered  an 
The  soarlet  robes,  ihe  flowing  wigs  of  the  judges,  j  ^''-^''""'  '°  '"-''"  fi»t^'e«"  and  mother,  if  they  would 
were  opposite  to  him;  beside  him  were  tfie  rich  ;  ^°  °"^^  ^** '^3*^"*>'-  ^^^^  sisters,  she  wrote  word, 
black  silk  robes  of  his  chaplain,  the  vicar  ol  i  *^""'^ '•'"^  R^"*^  *'''^"'^'<^"3  ^h*^'"^  as  governesses— 
Deolfam.  A  crowd  of  gentlemen  on  fiorseback  j  P''"^'*^'j'  in  time  fii.d  husbands, 
followed— a  crowd  that  Hels^ionleigh  had  rarel)  ;;  They  were  wi!d  to  go.  They  wanted  to  get 
seen.  William  was  one  of  them.  Tne  popular- J '^^^'^y  ^^'^^  morliryins  Ilelstonleigh,  and  to  try 
ity  or  non-popularity  of  a  high  s-heiiff  may  be^  ^''^''"  ^""^"'•'' '"  ^  ""^  w"'"''^-  The  passage  money 
judged  of  from  the  number  of  his  attendants,!  *""  ^''^  ^'^'"^""j'-  Ju'ia  had  not  sent  it.po.ssibly 
wlieu  he  goes  out  to  meet  the  judges.  Half  Hel- 1  "°^  supposing  they  were  so  very  bad  off;  bhe  did 
stoiileig'i  had  put  itself  on  horseback  that  day,  to  i""''*'""^  >«^  of  the  last  finish  to  their  misfor- 
do  honour  to  Thomas  Ashley.  ;  '""cs-      How  could    they   scrape   together  even 

,.  •,-....         .enough  for  the  cheapest  class,  the  steerage  .>     Mr. 

Occupying  a  conspicuous  position  in  the  street'..   ,,      ,       .  ■    ,    ^  ,       . 

.,   V,  .  ,  ,  '      .,  ,     ,         ,   .Ashley  s  private  belief  was  that  he  .ahould  have 

were  the    A»hley   workmen,     (lean  and  shaved,'       <•,,... 
,,       .     .  ,.,.       ,  J  ..        u    .  ':;  to  furnish  It.     Ah— he  was  a  good  man. 

they  had  surreptitiously  convened  their  best  coat.*  >      a      ,  .      . 

.     ..  ,     .  ■         ,1    .i      p  ,     ,'      out. day  morning  ro.se  to  the  ringing  again  of 

to  the  manufactory;  and,  with    the  fir^t  pea    o   '   l.^  „   ,i  „j     i  u   ,i       u   •■    .i    .  ..       &    &     & 

,,,.■;.,         ,     .  ,  .      ahe  cathedral  bells— bells  that  do  not  condescend 

the  colh-ge  bells,  they  had    rushed  out,  dressed— ^ , 

,     ,        .       ,.  r     .  I  /to  ring,  save   on    rare  occasicns— telling  that  it 

every  soul — leaving  the  manufactoiy  alone  in  its>  ■;  ,         ,  .     ,,   .  ... 

,  ,  , ,  ,,  .    .   L  r.      m        »vas>ome  dijy  of  note  III  HeNtonlcigh.     It  was  a 

ziory,  and  bamuel  Lynn  to  take  care  of  it.     The  ,  e       ,  .  ,. 

°       ...  .      ,         ,,        u      H>  J  nne  day,  sunny,  and   veiy  waim  for  March,  and 

•hout  they  raised,  as  the  sheriH  » carriage  drew  ^ .,        ,.,,     .  .    ,  .,         , 

.     r        1    ■  .1  r    ..  tlie  glittering   east   window  refltcted    its  colourg 

near,  deafened  the  street.     It  was  out  of  all  m»n-  .  .  ,  .  ... 

^     .  .  ...       „    U|)on  a  crowd,  such   as  the  cathedral  had  rarely 

ner  of  etiquette  or  precedence  lo  cheer  the  sherifl '.  i.    j       .i  r      .     ■  ■ 

,     .  Men  assembled  within  Its  wans  for  divine  service, 

when  in  altenOance  ou  the  judges;  but  who  could  .u        .u  •       •  ^      . 

.  .      L        i     »T       *r      »   .  .  rr,.    .      even  on  those  thronging  days,  assize  Sundays, 

be  angry  with   them. >     Not   Mr.  Ashley.     Their;      rp,  .  .      ..  ,        ,.     ^     , 

,.°,,.        ,        .-.J      /.         r     I.    '/     The  procession  extended   nearly  all  the  lenc 
lordships    looked    out    astonished.     One  of    the'  /■  .  .  . 

.  1    r  o     t«;-ii-        ,       .       (  way  from  the  grand  entrance  gates  to  the  choir, 

judges  you  hare  met  before— Sir  William  Leader;  ..  ,.,.     .     .  ,    .  -,.     ,     / 

..    "  ,,      I     .        ,-  '    passing  through  the  body  and  the  nave    The  high 

the  other  was  Mr.  Justice  Keeiie.  >    .       <r7  .  ..  .    ,  ... 

'Sherill  s  men,  standing  so  still,  their  foriuidiibla 
The  judges  gazed  from  the  carriage,  wonder-  j  javelins  in  rest,  had  enough  to  do  to  retain  their 


ing  what  the  shouts  could  mean.  They  saw  a 
respectable  looking  body  of  men — not  respectable 
in  dress  only,  but  in  face — gstheied  there,  bare- 


places,  from  the  pressure  of  the  crowd  behind, 
as  they  ktpt  the  line  of  way.  The  bishop  in  hia 
robes,  the   clergy  in   their  white  garments  and 


headed,  and  cheering  the  carriage  with  all  their    ,ea.l-t  or   black    hoo-^s,   the  long  line  of  college 


might  and  main 

'What  can   that  be  for.''  cried  Mr.  Justice 
Keene. 

'I  beliere  it  must  be  meant  for  mc,'  observed 


bojs  in  their.surpli(c», the  lay-clerks, yetin  white. 
Not  (as  you  were  told  of  yesterday)  on  them; 
not  on  the  mayor  and  corporation,  with  their 
chains  and  gowns,  not  on  the  grcy-w  igged  judgei, 


Mr.  Ashloy,  taken   by  surpriic   ai  much   as  the    their  fiery  trains  hild  up  behind,  glaring  synoiur* 
judjjeiwere.    'Fooiiali  fellowa!     Your  lordahips    of  eje»  on  other  days,  was  tht  attention  of  th» 


116 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROUBLES. 


crowd  fixed;  but  on  him  who  walked,  calm,  dig-  j  but  you  will  not  care  to  have  it  recapitulated  for 
nified,  quiet,  in  iramediate  aitendatice  on  theiyou,  as  the  local  newj-pnpers  recapiinlaied  it. 
judges — their  revered  fe)lo«-ci!iz«'n,  Thomas  j  Rtnienibering  what  the  biinging  up  of  the  Halli- 
Ashley.  In  altendance  on  him  was  his  (haplain,  !  burtons  had  been,  it  wag  impo>sib  e  lliat  Gar's 
hia  black  gown,  so  contrasting  with  the  glare  aud  j  sermons  should  not  be  practical;  and  the  congre- 
glitter,  marking  him  out  conspicuously.  galion  bepan  to  tliitik  they  had  been  mistijktn  in 

The  organ  had  burst  f«rih  as  they  eritered  the  |  tteir  estimate  of  what  a  young  man  could  do. 
great  gates,  simultaneous^ly  with  the  ceasii-g  of  j  He  told  the  judges  where  their  duty  lay,  a?  (ear- 
the  ringing  bells,  which  h;.d  heen  sei.dii^g  iheir  ;  K-sly  as  he  lo:d  it  to  the  college  boys  ,  as  t  e  toW 
melody  over  the  city.  Wiih  sorire'd.fficuliy  places  j  ii  to  all;  he  told  them  that  tt'ie  golden  secret  of 
were  found  for  thuse  of  nolo,  bm  maiij  a  score  jsucct^ss  arid  happiness  in  this  life,  lay  in  the  failh- 
stood  Ihatda-y.  The  bishop  had  gone  on  to  his  |  ful  and  earnest  peilormance  of  the  duties  that 
throne — and  «  ppositc  to  him,  in  the  archdeacon's  j  crow  di  d  on  their  path,  striving  on  uiiwei)rit  dly, 
stull,the  appointed  place  for  the  preacher  on  as- ;  whatsoever  those  duties  mi^^hi  be,  whether  pitas- 
size  Suridays,  sal  the  ^henti's  chaplain.  Sir  ?  ant  or  painful;  joined  to  implicit  reliance  on.  and 
William  Leader  was  shown  to  the  dean's  stall — ^  trust  in  God  A  plainer  serDK.n  was  never 
Mr.  Justice  Keene  to  the  sub  dean's— the  dean  ,  preached;  in  manner  he  was  remaikably  calm 
sitting  next  the  one,  the  high  sherili"  next  the  j  and  impressive,  and  the  tone  of  his  voice  was 
other,  William  Halliburton  was  in  a  canon's  <  quiet  and  per.-ausive,  just  as  if  he  were  speaking 
stall;  Frank— handsome  Fiank— got  a  place  |  to  them.  He  was  li«teried  to  with  breathless  in- 
auidst  many  other  barristers.  And  in  the  ladies'  ^  terest  ihrDUghoul;  even  those  gentry,  ihe  college 
pew,  underneath  the  dean,  sealed  v»iih  the  dean's  '  boys,  were  for  once  beguiled  into  lit-lerung  to  a 
'vife,  were  Mrs.  Ashley,  her  daughter,  and  Mrs.  |  sermon.  Jane's  tears  were  droppi/ig  ii.cessiuilly , 
Halliburton.  "  <  and  she  had   to   letdown   her  white  veil  lo  hide 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Keating  chanted  the  service,  M'n-'m;  like  that  day,  years  ago,  when  she  had  let 
putting  out  his  hei.t  voice  lo  do  it.  They  had  thai ;  f''»w"  t-er  black  crape  veil  lo  hide  them,  in  the 
line  anthem, 'Behold,  G..d  is  my  salvation.'  Very  I  oflice  of  Anthony   Dare.     Difleient    tears    Ihis 

jjood  were  th6  services  and  the  singing  that  day.  ■  l""* • 

•yhedean,  the  piebendary  in  residence,  and  Mr.  \  ^  he  sermon  lostrd  just  half  an  hour,  and  it 
Keating,  went  lo  thn  communion  table  for  the  had  seemed  bui  a  quarter  of  one.  The  bishop 
commandment*,  and  thus  the  service  drew  to  an  then  rose  and  gave  the  blessing,  and  the  crowds 
end.  Aslhey  were  conducted  back  to  their  stall, '/began  lo  file  out.  As  the  preacher  was  being 
a  verier  with  hi-,  silver  mace  cleared  a  space  for  i  marshalled  by  a  verger  through  the  choir  to  take 
the  sheriff's  chaplain  to  ascend  Ihe  pulpit  stairs,  his  place  in  the  procession  next  the  high  sheriff, 
the  preacher  of  tbe  day.  ;  ^^r-  Keating  met  him  and  grasped  h  s  hand. 

How  the  college   boys  gazed  at  him!     But  a  ,      *You  are  all  right.   Gar,'  he  whispered, 'and  I 

lort  while  before,  speaking'  comparatively,  he  '  ^m  proud  of  having  cducaied  you.     1  hat  sermon 

ad  been  one  of  them,  a  college   boy  himself, ,  «'"  tell  home  to  some  of  the  drones.' 

ime  of  the    seniors   (juniors   then)    had   been)      'I  knew  he'd  astonish  'em  !'  ejaculated  Dobbs^ 

^chool-fellows  with  him.    Wow  he  was  the  Rev.  •  who  had  walked  all  the  way  from  Deottam  to  see 

Edgar  Halliburton,  standing  there,  chief  person- ;  the  sight,  to  hear  her  master  preach  to  Ihe  calhe- 

:igefor  the  moment  in  that   calhedrah     To  iheldral,  and   had   fought  out    a    place   for  herself 

hoys'  eyes  he  seemed  to  look  dark;  save  on  assize  |  «'ght  in  front  of  the  pulpit.     'His  sermons  hain't 

Sundays,  they  were  accustomed  to  see  only  white    fi"^d  up  with  bottomless  pits,   as   is   never  full 

robes  in  that  pulpit.  |  enough,  like  them  of  some  preachers  be.' 

'Too  young  to  give  us  a  good  sermon,'  thought  \     That  sermon   and  the  Rev.  Edgar  Halliburton 

lalf    the  congregation,    as    they  scanned  him.    were  talked  of  much  in  Helstonleigh  that  day. 

Nevertheless,  they  liked  his  countenance;  it  had  |     Rut  ere  the  close  of  another  day  the  town  was 

.T  grave,  earnest  look.     He  gave  out  his  text,  a  |  ringing  with  the  name  of  Frank.     He  had  led— 

verse  from  Ecciesiastcs—  I  te,  Frank   Halliburton!    A   cause   of  some  im- 

•Whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  ,  portance  was  tried  in  the  Msi  Prius  Court,  in 
thy  might;  for  there  is  no  work,  nor  device,  nor  j  which  the  defendant  was  Mr.  Glenn,  the  surgeon, 
knowledge,  nor  wisdom,  in  the  grave,  whither  ;  Mr.  Glenn,  who  had  liked  Frank  from  the  hour 
thou  goest.'  j  he  first  conversed  with  him  that  evening  at  his 

Then  he  leaned  a  little  forward  on  the  cushion; !  house,  now  so  long  ago — a  conversation  at  which 
and  after  a  pause,  began  his  sermon,  which  lay  i  you  had  the  plea'^ure  of  assisting — who  had  also 
before  him,  and  worked  out  the  text.  j  the  highest  opinion   of  Frank's  abilities  in  bis 

^   It  was  an  admimbls  discourse,  very  practical;  j  profession,  bad  made  it  a  point  that  his  case 


MRt.  HALLIBURTON'!  TROUBLES. 


117 


should  be  intrusted  to  Frank;  Mr.  Glenn  was  not '  with  him.    The  girls  make  a  great  deal  of  us, 

deceived;  Frnnk  led  admirably,  and  hiseloq'jence  ,  too.    That  is  how  i  first  knew  Maria.' 

quite  took  the  spectators  by  storm.     What  was  of       'Then    I  suppose    you   see  something  of  the 

more  importance,  it  told  upon  Mr.  Justice  Keene  judge." 

and  the  jury,  and  Frank  sat  down  in  triuoiph  aud  ;     'Oh,   dear,'  laughed   Frank;  'the  judge  and  I 

won  his  verdict.  are  upon    intimate   terms   in    private  life;  quite 

•I  told  you    I   should   do  it,  mother,'  said  he  ;^'"°"''^s-     "^o"  "'""'^  "o^  think  it,  though,  if  you 

quietly  when  he  reached  DeoflTam  that  night,  after   ^^^^  "]^  bowing  before  my  lord  when  he  sits  in  his 

being    nearly    smothered    with  congratulations. -^'^  "^'S-     Sometimes  I  fancy  he  suspects.' 

•You  will  live  to  see  me  on  the  woolsack  yet.'       '     'Suspects  what  ?' 

T         1       uj      au       ft       kji       u  A    t  tx.    i     'That  1  and  Maria  would  like  to  join  cause  to- 
Jane  laughed.     She  often  had  laughed  at  the  >„„,.„„      n...  tj«.,u         i   ru     i  . 

.  „  ■         ^      f  gether.     But  1  don  t  mind  if  he  does.     I  am  a  fa* 


same  boa?<t.     She  was  alone  that  evening;  Gar 


vourite  of  his.  The  very  Sunday  before  we  came 


on  circuit,  he  as-ked  me  to  dine  there.     We  went 
:to  church  in  the  evening,  and  I  had  Maria  under 


was  attending  the  high  sherifT  at  an  oflicial  din- 
ner at  Hclslonleigh. 

'Will    no   lesser   prize   content    you,  Frank  .''„,„  ,„:„_.  «;„  u/;ii.o^  o.,,i  i    At      a      .     j  • 

.  ,        r,        ^  ,  ■  my  wing;  bir  William  and  Lady  Leader  trudging 

asked  she,  jestingly.     Say,  for  example,  the  so-:  ^jj,  ^^.^^ig  y^.  , 

licitor-geoeralship.^'  >     .^.g„_  p/^,,,^^    j  ^.^^   ^^^  ^^^^^^^      j   ^^^,^ 

'Yes.  as  a  stepping-stone.'  v        •,  think  you   would  choose   any  but  a  nice  girl,  a 

'And  you  still  get  on  weH  ?  seriously  speaking !  good  girl ' 

now,  Frank.'  ;     'Stop  a   moment,   mother;  you  will   meet  the 

•First    rate,'   answered    Frank.     'This    day's  judge  to-morrow  night,  and  you  may  then  picture 
work  will  be  the  best  lift  for  me,  though,  unless    Maria.     She  is  as  like  him  as  two  peas.' 
lam  mistaken.     I  had  two  fresh  briefs  pushed  ^^      'How  old  is  she,  Frank .'' 

into  my  hands  as  I  sat  down,'  he  added,  going  off/  'Two-and-twenty.  /  shall  have  her.  He  was 
in  a  laugh.  'See  if  I  make  this  year  less  than  ajnot  always  the  great  Judge  Leader,  you  know, 
thousand  I'  <  mother— and  he  knows  it.     And   he  knows  that 

•And  the  next  thing,   I  suppose,  you  will  be  ^  eveiy body  must  have  a  beginning,  as  he  and  my 
thinkifg  of  getting  married?*  ^  lady  had  it.     For  jears  after  they  were  married 

The  bold  barrister  actually  blushed.  (  he  did  not  make  five  hundred  a  year,  and  they  had 

•What  nonsense,  mother — marry,  and  lose  my  !'to  'i^e  upon  it.     He  does  not  fear  to  revert  to  it, 
fellowship  !'  ',  either;  he  often  talks  of  it  to  me  and  Bob — a  sort 

•Frank,  it  is  so:     I  see  it  in  your  face.     You  1°*"  ^'"^'  '  suppose,  that   folks  do  get  on  in  lime, 
must  tell  me  who  it  is.'  '  ^^  *^'"^  °*"  Pat'ence.     You  will  like  Sir  William 

/  Leader.' 

'Well,  as  yet  it  is  no  one.    1  must  wait  until  J     v«o     t„., .  u  „     *  o-    m-,,-  ,     -. 

.  ■'        ..  „  J   .  .     .      .  .   .   ^      Yes— Jane  would  meet  Sir  William  on  the  fol- 

liiy  eloquence,  as  they  called  It  to-day  m  court,  IS  ' /v,ii„„. „•  v,    /•      ..    .         u  .      l 

■'        ^  J   r    .     -.u    u        u,-  J  .L       ,    •o'low"?  n'fffit,  for  that  would  be  the  evening  of 

more  an  assured  fact  with  the  public,  and  then  1    ,u.  „„„„  j    „.„  .   •  .    •        l    .i     .     ,     ,       ^ 

...  *  '  .  .      ',  'he  grand  entertainment  given  by  the  high  sheriff 

may  speak  out  to  the  judge.    She  means  waitmg  >  ^o  the  judges  at  Deoffam  Hall, 
for  me,  though,  so  it  is  all  right.'  ) 

'<' ^ 

j .^ 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    HIGH    sheriff's    DI.VNER    PARTY. 


••she.'" 

•Maria  Leader.' 

Jane  looked  at  him  doubtingly. 

'Not  sir  William's  daughter?' 

'His  second  daughter.' 

'Is  not  that  rather  too  aspiring  for  Frank  Hal- 
liburton?'  William  HALLiniRTON  drove  his  wife  over  in 

•Maria  does  not  think  so.    I  have  been  aspiring   the  pony  carriage   in   the   afternoon;  they  would 

all  my  life,  mother;  and  so  long  as  I  work  on  for   dress  and  sleep  at  DeofTim.     They  went  early 

it  honourably  and   uprightly,  I  see  no  harm  in    and  in  driving  past  Deoffam  vicarage,  who  should 
being  so.'  be  at  the  gate  looking  out   for  them,  but  Anna. 

'No,  Frank— good  instead  of  harm.     How  did    Not  Anna  Lynn  now,  but  Anna  Gurney. 
you  become  acquainted  with  her.''  '      'William,  William,  there's  Anna!'  Mary  ex- 

'Her  brother  and  I  are  chums;  have  been  ever   claimed.     'I  will  get  out  here.' 
since  we  were  at  Oxford.     Bob   is  at  the  Chan-;      He  assisted  her  down,  and  they  remained  talk- 
eery  bar,  but  he  has  not   much  nouse  for  it— not   ing  with  Anna.     Then  William   asked   what  he 
half  the  clever  man   that   his   father  was.     His  ;  was  to  do— wait  with   the  carriage  for  Mary,  or 
chambers  are  next  to  mine,  and  I  often  go  home ;  driv*  on  to  lh«  hall,  and  walk  back  for  her? 


116 


MRS.  HALLIBURTON'*  TROUBLES. 


•Drive  to  Ihe  hall,'  said  Mary,  who  wished  to  :  shakes  his  head  at  me  and  laughs;  bilt  I  think  he 
stay  a  little  while  wiih  Anna.     *Bul,  WiMam,'    will  listen  to  me.' 

she  added,  as  he  got  in,  'don't  let  my  box  go  into        Seeing  what  she  did  of  the  change  in  Anna'* 
the  stables  '  ;  dress,   Mary   thought  so  too.     Not  but  Anna's 

♦With  all  the  finery,'  laughed  William.  j  things  were  still  cut  sufficiently  in  the  old  form  to  , 

•It  contains  my  dinner  dress,'  Mary  explained    bespeak  her  sect:  as  they,  no  doubt,  always  would 
to  Anna.     'Have  you  been  here  long  ?'  be. 

•This  hour,  1  think,'  replied  Anna.  'My  husband       'When  art  thee  coming  to  spend  the  day  with 
had  business  a  mile'or  two  further  on,  and  drove  !  me,  as  thee  promised  ?'  asked  Anna, 
me  here.     What  a  nice  ga.den  this  is.    See— I  \     'Very  soon:  when  this  assize  bustle  shall  U 
have  been  picking  Gar's  flowers.'  j  o^^""- 

.TUT,        ■    »i      TT  iiu    .      5»     i,„j  TMo„«^  'Itow  gay  you  will  all  be  to-night!' 

'Where  IS  Mrs.  Halliburton?' asked  Mary.  .„       ^         .  ,      •_.  .«  .r^ 

.T^  ^v.        I,    ■  L  .        ..1^  ,^,  r.^  A\^n,,fa  in  I       How  formal,  you  mean,   said  Mary.     'To  en- 

'Dobbs  called  her  in  to  settle  son>e  dispute  m  .     .    ,  ■'  ■'    , 

^,     ,  .    ,         ,  ,  r»  uu     „.>„..  ot  f..nai.t..vop    tc'"''*'"  judges  when  on  circuit,  and  bishops  and 

the  kitchen.  I  know  Dobbs  is  a  grtat  tyrant  over  ..       .  .  ,        .  .    . 

.,    ,  ,  .,  ,  deans,  IS  more  formidable  than  pleasant      It  is  a 

that  new  housemaid;  ...         „,.         . 

,      ,  ir    A         f      -J    stale  dinner  to-night.     When    1   saw  papa   this 

'But  now  leil  me  about   yourself,  Anna,' said  .  •     j     .    .i    *  .    i         v 

,       ,        ,       .,)  morning,  1  inquired  whether  we  were  to  have  the 
Mary,  drawing  her  down  on  a  garden  bench      '1  )  .       ,.   °  ^  j  •     *u     j-   •  . 

•"  °  -   ;javelin-men  on  guard  in  the  dining-room. 

Anna    laughed.     'Do    Frank    and    Gar   dine 


have  scajcely  seen  you  since  you  were  married. 
How  do  you  like  being  your  own  mi>tressr' 

•Oh,  it's  charming!'  cried  Anna,  with  all  her 
old  childish  natural  manner.  'Mary,  what  d^  st 
thee   think.'    Charles   lets    me    sit  without   my 


there.'' 

'Of  course.  The  high  sheriff  could  not  give  a 
dinner  without  his  chaplain  at  mamma's  band  to 
.•>ay  grace,'  returned  Mary,  laughing. 

William  came  back;  and  they  all  remained 
nearly  for  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  Jane  regaling 

,,    ,     ,  ,  them  with  tea.    It  was  scarcely  over  when  Mr. 

•Inded.  yes.    One  day  Pdlience  called  when  we  ^  •     u-  •  ■ 

luut-u,  jca.    v^.  c  wa,j  Gurney  drove  up  in   his  carnage:  a  large,  open 

were  ai  dinner,     i  had  not  got  so  much  a3abit|^  _.  _    _.,^  _  _„.  f,.„  ., „„  u..i,:„..   .u. 

of  cap  on,  and  Patience  she  looked  so  cross — but 


caps- 
Mary  laughed. 
•To  the  great  scandal  of  Patience!' 


she  said  nothing,  for  the  servants  were  in  waiting. 
When  they  had  left  ihe  room  she  told  Charles 
that  she  wassurpristd  at  his  allowing  it — that  I 
was  giddy  enough  and  vain  enough,  and  it  would 
only  make  me  worse.  Charles  smiled— be  was 
eating  walnuts;  and  what  dost  ihee  think  he  an- 
He— but  1  don't  like  to  tell  thee,'  broke 


carriage,  with  a  seat  for  the  groom  behind,  the 
horses  very  fine  ones.  He  came  in  for  a  few 
minutes;  a  very  pleasant  man  of  nearly  forty 
}ears;  a  handsome  man  also.  Then  he  took  pos- 
session of  Anna,  carefully  assisted  her  up,  took 
the  seat  beside  her,  and  the  reins,  and  drove  off. 
William  started  for  the  Hall  with  Mary,  walk- 
ing at  a  brisk  pace.     It  was  not  ten  minutes'  dis- 


Bwered:     u'o     .,ui.  j^  ^^..  -  - .      .„._.....  —  ,     -        j  tance,  but  the  evening  was  getting  on.     Henry 
off  Anna,  covering    her  face   with   her  prelty  |  ^^^,^^   ^^,  ^^^^  ^^\^^^  ^^^^^J    ^^^   ^^^J^ 

hands. 

•Yes,  yes,  Anna,  you  must  tell  me.' 


i  Ashley   met  them  as  they   entered,  and   began 
j  upon  them  in  his  crossest  tone. 

'Now,  what  have  you  two  got  to  say  for  your- 
•He  told  Patience   that  he  liked    to    see  me  |  ^^^^^^ ,     ^^^^^  j  ^^p^^^  ^^^^  ^^    wm:im,  to 

without  ^he  caps,  and  there  was  no  need  for  my  |  ^^^^  ^^^  afternoon  with  me;  the  mother  expecU 
wearing  them  until  1  should  have  children  old  |  ^^^^.  and  nothing  arrives  but  a  milliner's  box. 
enough  to  set  an  example  to.  |  ^i^j  ^,^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^  appearrnce  when  it's  pretty 

Anna  took  off  her  straw  bonnet  as  she  spoke, ;  jjg^r  time  to  go  up  to  embellish  !' 
and  her  curls  fell  down  to  shade  her  blushing  j      ,^^,^  ^^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^  vicarage,  Henry;  and  I  don  't 
cheeks.     Mary  wondered  whether  the  'children'  (  ^^^.^^  mamma  could  want  me.  Anna  Gurney  was 
ild  have  lovely  faces  like  their  mother.     She  ;^^^^^  , 


had  never  seen  Anna  look  so  well.  For  one  thing, 
she  had  rarely  seen  her  so  well  dressid.  She  j 
wore  a  slone-cololired  corded  silk,  glis^tening) 
with  richness,  and  a  beautiful  white  shawl  that* 
must  have  cost  no  end  of  money.  - 

•I  should  always  let  my  curls  be  seen,  Anna,'| 
said  Mary;  there  can  be  no  harm  in  it.' 


•Rubbish  to  Anna  Gurney!  Who's  Anna  Gur- 
ney, that  she  should  upset  things.  1  wanted  Wil- 
liam, and  that's  enough.  Do  you  think  you  are 
to  have  the  entire  monopolising  of  him,  Mrs. 
Mary,  just  because  you  happen  to  have  married 
him." 

Mary  went  behind  her  brother,  and  playfully 


'No   that  there  can't,  as  Charles  does  not  think  ;  put  her  arras  round  his  neck.     'I  will  lend  him  to 
so'    emphatically     answered     Anna.      'Mary,' ;  you  now  and  then,  if  you  are  good,'  she  whig- 
dropping  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  'I  want  Charles ,  pered. 
n«t  to  wear  those  straight  coaU  any  more.    He  1     'You  idle,  inattentire  girl !  The  mother  wanted 


MRi.  HALLIBURTON'S  TROyBLES. 


lis 


you  to  cut  lome  hot-home  flowen  for  the  dinner-  ; 
table.'  I 

•Did  she?     I  will  do  it  now. '  ! 

•Hark  at  her !  Do  it  now  !  when  it  has  been  ^ 
done  tt'is  ble!«sed  hour  past;  William,  I  don't  in- 1 
tenrl  to  show  tu-night '  } 

'Why  nol?'a-ktd  William. 

Mt  is  a  nuisance  to  change  one's  things;  and 
my  side's  nut  over  clever  to  day;  and  the  un- 
grateful delii  qiiency  of  you  two  has  put  nic  out 
of  sorts  allogeiher,'  answered  Henry,  making  up 
his  catai()f;iie.  •Cfiidcmning  one  to  vain  expecta- 
tion, aiid  to  fret  aiid  fnaie  over  it!  1  shan't  show;  \ 
WiJiain  must  represent  nie.'  i 

*Ycs,  you  will  show,'  replied  William.  'For  j 
you  know  that  your  not  doing  so  would  vex  Mr.  i 
Ashley.'  \ 

•A  nice  lot  you  are  to  talk  about  vexing!     You 
don't  care  how  you  vex  me.'  } 

William  K«-ntly  took  him  by  the  arm.  'Come; 
along  to  your  room  now,  and  I  will  help  you  with  i 
your  things.  Once  ready,  you  can  do  as  you  like  ] 
about  appearing.'  I 

•You  treat  me  just  like  a  child,'  grumbled  j 
Henry.  •!  say,  do  the  judges  come  in  their  | 
wigs.^'  -         j 

Mary  burst  into  a  laugh.  ! 

•f{ecause  that  ca?e  of  stuffed  owls  had  better  be  ] 
ordered  out  of  the  hall.  The  animals  may  be  ■ 
lo'jked  upon  as  personal.'  I 

•1  hope  there'*  a  good  fire  in  your  room,  * 
Henry.'  \ 

•There  had  better  be,  unless  the  genius  which  j 
presides  over  the  fires  in  this  household  would  | 
like  to  feel  the  weight  of  my  di<plea,sure.' 

Mury  went  to  find  her  mother;  she  was  in  her  ( 
•hamber,  dressing. 

'My  dear  child,  how  late  you  are!'  ! 

•There's  pl»Mity  and  plenty  of  time,  mamma    ' 
.  We  stayed  at  the  parsonage.     Anna  Gurney  was  j 
there.     Henry  sajs  he  is  not  very  well.' 

'He  says  Ihatalwavs  when  William  disappoints  i 
him.  He  will  he  all  right  now  you  are  come.  ! 
Go  into  your  room,  my  dear,  and  I  will  send  Sa-  : 
rah  to  you.*  ; 

Mary  was   ready,  and  the  maid  gone,  before  ' 
William  left  Henry  to  come  and  dress  on  his  own  , 
score.     Mary  wore  a  white  silk,  with  emerald 
ornaments. 

•Shall  I  cfo,  William  ?'  atkcd  she,  when  Wil- 
liam  came  in. 

'Do  ?'  ho  answered,  running  his  eyes  oTer  her. 
•No!'  J 

'Why,  what's  the  mntlcr  with  me?'  the  cried,  ( 
turning  hurriedly  to  the  great  glass. 

•Thii».'  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  j 
passionately.  'My  darling  wifa '■     You  will  never 
"4»"  without  that." 


If  was  not  a  formidable  party  at  all.  in  defiance 
of  Mary's  anticlpaliois.  Tl  e  ju'lgfs,  divt-sled 
of  their  flowing  wigs  and  fljming  robes,  looked 
jjst  like  other  men.  Jjiic  liked  Sir  William 
Lender,  us  Frank  had  toul  iiershe  would;  and  Mr. 
Justice  Kecne  was  an  ea-\,  talkative  man,  fond 
of  a  good  joke  and  a  good  dintur.  Mr.  Justice 
Keene  seemed  uncommonly  to  admire  Mur)  Hal- 
liburton; and — tht  re  could  be  no  doubt  of  it,  and 
I  hope  the  legal  bench  woi.'l  look  grave  at  the 
nflfciion — seemed  very  much  inclined  to  get  up 
a  flirtation  with  her  over  the  coffee.  Being  a 
judj^^e,  I  think  the  bishop  ought  to  have  read  him 
a  repiimand. 

Standing  at  one  end  of  the  room,  their  coffee- 
cUps  in  hiiiid,  were  Sir  William  Leader,  the  Dean 
of  Helston  eigh,  Mr.  A>hlcy,  and  his  son.  They 
w«:re  talkuig  of  the  Hailiburtons.  Sir  William 
knew  a  good  deal  of  their  history  from  Frank. 

•It  is  most  wonderful  !'  Sir  William  was  re- 
maiking.  •Self-educated,  self-supporting, and  to 
be  what  they  are  !* 

•Not  altogether  self-educated,'  dissented  the 
dean;  "for  the  two  younger,  the  barrister  and 
clergyman,  were  in  the  school  attached  to  my 
cathedral;  but  self-educated  in  a  great  degree. 
Tlifi  eldest,  my  friend's  son-in-law,  never  had  a 
lesson  in  the  classics  subsequent  to  his  father'a 
death,  and  there's  not  a  aiore  finished  scholar  in 
lh»i  county.' 

•The  father  died  and  left  them  badly  provided 
for,' remarked  Sir  Wiilijni. 

•He  did  not  leave  them  provided  for  at  all.  Sir 
William,'  corrccied  ftlr.  .Ashley.  'He  left  no- 
thing, literally  iiothinp,  but  the  furniture  of  the 
small  house  they  rented;  and  he  left  .some  iriflinr 
debts.  Poor  Mrs.  Halliburton  turned  to  worlc 
with  a  will,  and   not    only   contrived   to  support 

them,  hut  brought  tkg|#up  to  be  what  you  see 

lofiyinii'ded,  honourable,  educated  men.' 

The  judge  turned  his  eyes  on  Jane.     She  «at  on 


a  distant  sofa,  talking  with  the  bishop.  So  quieM||M| 


so  lady-like,  nay — so  attractive— she  looked  sll 
in  the  rich  pearl-grey  dress  worn  at  William's 
wedding;  not  in  the  least  like  one  who  has  had  to 
toil  hard  for  bread. 

•I  have  heard  of  her— heard  of  her  worth  from 
Frank,'  he  said,  with  emphasis.  »Sho  must  he 
one  in  a  thousand.' 

•Onoltt*^^ft  million.  Sir  William,' burst  forth 
Henry  Ashl*y.  'When  they  were  boys,  you 
could  not  have  bribed  them  to  do  a  wrong  thing: 
neither  temptation  nor  anything  else  turned  them 
frnm  the  right.  And  tl.py  would  not  he  turned 
fr«)m  the  ^i^ht  now,  if  1  know  anything  o(  them. ' 

The  j'jdi;e  walked  up  to  Jane,  and  took  the 
••at, by  her,  juit  vacated  by  tb«  bishop. 


niOi 


MWS.  HALLIB0IITOW8  TRODBLES. 


'Mrs.  Halliburton,' said  he, 'you  must  be  proud  , she  ans^vered:  'my  trust  in  God.  Times  upoa 
of  your  BODS.'  ',  times,  Sir  William,  when  the  storm  was  beating 

Jane  smiled.  *I  have  latterly  been  obliged  to  about  my  head,  I  had  no  help  or  comfort  in  the 
take  mv  self  to  task  for  being  so.  Sir  William,';  wide  w'orld:  I  had  nothiiij;  to  lurn  to  but  that.  I 
•he  answered.  ^never  lost  my  trust  in  God.' 

•To  tasi< !  I  wish  I  had  three  such  sons  to  take  i-  . ^nd  therefore  God  stood  by  you,'  remarked 
myself  to  task  for  being  proud  of,'  was  the  an-'j^^g  judge,  in  a  low  tone. 

8wer      'Not  thai  m-ne  are  to  be  complained  of;       .^^^  ^^^^^^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^  ^^^p^^  ^^ 
but  ihey  are  not  like  these.  ,       'on.     1  wish,'  she  added,  earnestly,  'that  all  the 

•Do  you  think  Frank  will  get  on  .>  she  asked  ^^^,^,  ^^^,j  ,^.^^^^  that  same  great  lesson  that  I 
^'™-  have  learnt.     I  have— I  humbly  hojje  I  have — " 

'It  is  no  longer  a  question.  He  has  begun  to,  ^^^^  ^nMed  to  teach  it  to  my  boys.  1  have  tried 
rise  in  an  unusually  rapid  <nanner.     1  should  not,  ^^  ^^  .^  ^^^^  ^^^.^  ^^^,.^^^  , 


be  surprised  if,  in  aflpr  years,  he  may  tind  the;, 
very  highest  honours  opening  to  him.' 


•Frank  shall  have  Maria,'  thought  the  judge  to 

T  r  ~Vr,    f      u        •    »i,„  v.„m»ii  himself.    'They  are  an  admirable  family      The 
Again  .lane  smiled.     'He  has  been  in  the  habit  u     ,  •      u     m   i,  .i.        r  .i.      •. 

,   °,,.  ^  .  .      1     1     <•      ,  »j  .„  ...ti^  Vnrr  /  youn g  cha plain  should  hare  another  of  the  girls 

of  telling  us  that  he  looks  forward  to  rule  li.ng-,f^  _^   f^  .-,,..  ^ 

land  as  Lord  Chancellor.' 


( if  he'd  like  her. 


Ihe  jud^e  lau^lied.     'I  never  knew  a  newly- '^ 


{     What  was  William  thinking  of,  9s  be  stoo«|<  a 


fledged  barrister  who  did  not  indulge  tliat  vision,' 


little  apart,  with  his  serene  brow  and  his  thought- 


',  ful  smile .'    His  mind  was  back  in  the  past.  That 


said  he.     'Iknowldid.     But  there  are  really  not  (  .  ,      ,  .  ,       , 

many   Frank    Halliburtons.     So,   sir,'   he    con- 1 '«"S-P^*^  "'§ht.  following  on  the  day  of  his  en- 


tinued,  for  Frank  at  that  moment  passed,  and  the 


trance  to  Mr.  Ashley  s  manufactory,  was  present 


'  ■  .•       .ru  I     ■  K  ,i.-x..rv.=  „f?  to  him,  when  he  had   lain  down  in  despair,  and 

judge  pjnned  hiai, 'I  hear  you  cherish  dreams  of  '  •  p     .o  I  ,^  . 

•'     ^    '^  1      ir  »  ;  sobbed  out  his  bitter  grief.    'Bear  up,  my  child,' 

'' 'To  C.?at  it  in  the  distance  is  not  high  trea-|  "'^''^  ^he  words  his  mother  had  comfor.td  him 

SOD   Sir  William,'  wtis  Frank's  ready  answer.       )  ^'^'^i  '""'^  ^^  y^""-  ^"'^  »"^  ^"-"'^t  implicitly  in 

'  ,  I  J  ;  God.*    And   when  she  had  gone  down,  and  he 

•"Whv.  whrtt  do  YOU  suppose  «ou  would  do  on;  ,  .■•. 

vvny,  wiK-niy  J  IK        ^      .    .  ^      ,,,  ,     could  get  the  f^obs  from  his  heart  and  throat,  he 

the  Woolsack,  if  you  sot  there?    ciied  Sir  Wil-         j    .1  1      .     j  i      .   u  1  j^-^- -^■■ 

me  Y\ooisdi-a,  11  J   "6  J  made  the  resolve  to  do  as  she  told  him— at  any 

ii^^-  _        (rate,  to  try  and   do   it.     And   he   kneeled  down 

•My  duty,  I  hope,  Sir  William.     I  would  trj  L^^,.^  ^^^   then,  and   asked  to_  be   helped  to  do 

hard  fw!- It.'  (it      And,  from  that  hour  to  this,  William  had 

Sir  William  loosed  him  with  an  amused  ex-l  j^g^^^  ,j,,q^„  ^^^  t^^^t  ^^  f^^,      q^^^^^^^.    Yes, 

pression,  and  Frank  passed  on.     Jane  began  to;^,,gy  ^ad  reaped  success— success  in  no  measured 

think  Frank's  dream-not  of  the  Woolsack,  buli ^^g^^g      q^  j.^u  very  sure  that  it  was  born  of  ■ 

of  Ma;.a  Leader— not  so  very  improbable  a  one.  ;  ^j^.^^  ^^^^^  ^^^^^  q,^  r_^^  j^^^  j^^^^  .^^^^  ^^.^  ^^ 
•I  have  heard  of  your  early  struggles,'  said  the  <  gj^  vVilliam  Leader-if  all  the  world  cou!d  but 

jnd..e  to  her,  in  a  low  tone.     'Frank  has  talked  .  ,^^^^  ^,^.^  wonderful  truth  I 

to  Die.      How  you  could  Ij^^ve  borne  up,  and  done 

lon*^  continued   battle  with"  them,  1    cannot  im  /     •Because    he   hath   srt  his    love   vpok   me, 

^therekoue  will  I   deliver  him:   I  will  i.et  him 


aiine : 


■«» 


I  never  could  have  done  it  but  for  one  thing,'  <  op,  because  hk  hath  kvuwm  mt  kame.' 


■m 


THJ  BND. 


Date  Due 

^^ 

^^  ^f    WS75 


::jiQ^ 


V.  2       '^46199 


Mrs .  HalljLbur±oxiJ_&. 
TroubleC 

?33  R'^  V/6V5  V  2. 


S461 99 


